Blood and Water
by LF74
Summary: What if Petunia wasn't so poisoned by jealousy her sister's magic, and when her orphaned nephew appeared on her doorstep chose to treat him as family rather than a burden? Sorted into Hufflepuff, how will the Wizarding World react when their saviour finally returns? And is being fair and loyal really as good as people say?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It had been three years since Petunia Dursley had awoken on that November morning to find a baby on her doorstep, swaddled in a blanket with nothing but a letter to explain who he was or why he was there. The letter was hardly necessary for her to know who the boy was; she had known the moment his green eyes blinked slowly open.

Both the postman and the milkman had come and gone and yet the boy was still there, sound asleep in his basket and not making a sound. She didn't think any baby could be or even should be that quiet; Dudley certainly wasn't. The only explanation was that one of _them _had left the boy on her doorstep in the middle of winter; no one else could make a baby invisible or whatever unnatural thing they had done, and no _normal _person would leave a baby alone on a doorstep. But why had her sister dumped her child on her without even the decency to ask? She hadn't seen her sister in years, but she didn't need to to know that Lily would never give up her child willingly.

The letter had given her a sharp stab of grief that almost surprised her in its intensity; she had hated her sister, hadn't she? It had almost skipped over the death of her sister and her brother in law – Lily and James Potter were dead, murdered by a man called Lord Voldemort, and they had left instructions for her to take care of their son, Harry James Potter. That was all. It was all about Harry now; he must be cared for and kept safe, the letter said, away from the dangers of the magical world.

She had a distinct, unnaturally vivid memory of that morning that was perfect down to the most miniscule of details even now. The strange, looping handwriting of the letter and the feel of the parchment it was written on, the way the dim light of the sunrise slowly crawled across the floor as the minutes of sitting motionlessly at the kitchen table turned to hours and the jarring stillness of the house when it was only her awake. It was something she had never noticed before that morning and yet it had been seared into her brain ever since. But at the same time, much of that morning was a blur. There was just so much to take in.

Her sister dead, her late parents' perfect little girl. Beautiful Lily, genius Lily, _magical _Lily. They had been close when they were little, until Lily got that letter from that stupid school and left. She had hated her for that, and Lily's efforts to make up for it by telling her all about life at Hogwarts had only made it worse. Every story of magic and wands and flying broomsticks only rubbed in the fact that Lily was special and she wasn't, but Lily hadn't seemed to understand that. They hadn't spoken in years but for the occasional letter Lily sent her. She had never replied to any of them, and now there would be no more chances for her to do so. In that moment it had all seemed so petty.

She had never even met Lily's husband, though she had seen him in the moving photographs that Lily had sent her over the years. From their wedding, of Harry flying around the house on a broomstick of all things while his father chased after him and Lily watched laughing. She had never been able to throw any of them away, even if she justified it to herself as simply stopping anyone from finding out about her sister's freakishness. What if someone saw them? No, much better to keep them locked up in the attic she told herself, far away from prying eyes.

Another child to clothe, to feed and to care for. Dudley was enough trouble as it was without having another boy to compete with for her attention. That wasn't even considering how Vernon would take it, and it was sure to be badly. He had had an extreme hatred of magic beyond even hers ever since she told him about its existence a few months into their marriage, despite never having actually met a witch or wizard. He would never accept a wizard in his own house.

As expected, Vernon had been ready to dump Harry in an orphanage the very moment he found out, but she had argued back. It was one of the first times she had really fought back against her husband and never in a million years would she have thought it would be about this; if asked before that day she probably would have said she would want to give Harry to an orphanage too. "Freaks don't belong with us normal folk" Vernon had shouted loud enough to wake Dudley in his room upstairs, and their son's cries had seemed to only anger Vernon further, as if it was somehow Harry's fault for waking him. She had managed to stop his tirade by saying that the wizards might have put spells on the boy to make sure they kept him. The statement seemed to enrage him as much as it frightened him, but it had worked. The only thing that trumped Vernon's anger was his fear.

And so, begrudgingly, Vernon had agreed to keep Harry. They had bought him a rickety old cot from the charity shop and put him in the spare room by himself – Vernon had refused to have Harry anywhere near Dudley – and used the clothes that Dudley had long since grown out of despite being virtually the same age to clothe him. It had been… okay for the first six months or so. Vernon still hated the fact that Harry was there, of course, but they settled into a routine of her taking care of the two boys while Vernon was at work. Looking after Harry for a while was actually respite from the near constant crying and wailing from Dudley, though he became much quieter when the two of them were together. Vernon didn't know that they were ever in the same room – he would go through the roof if he found out – but they seemed to get on quite well. Harry often seemed to be studying Dudley while he grinned toothily back.

But then the magic started. Not very often at first, but gradually it became so that it would be strange for him to go a day without having some sort of burst of accidental magic. The first time she saw him do it was to summon one of Dudley's toys from across the room when he was crying for it and she was shocked speechless for a few seconds. She remembered Lily doing magic when they were younger – making dead flowers bloom in her palm, little bursts of sparks jumping between her fingertips and unlocking doors when their parents were out – but she had no idea if she performed any magic this young. It was almost sweet, she thought, that he was using his magic to cheer his cousin up. Unnatural, but sweet nonetheless.

For much of the day Vernon was out working, so for the first few months of this he was none the wiser. She didn't see any point in telling him; what he didn't know couldn't hurt him, and there was no benefit to anyone in making him angry if it was avoidable.

Of course, that couldn't last forever, and it didn't. One night at dinner Harry had summoned a roast potato off of Vernon's plate – something Harry had a particular fondness for – and after several seconds of spluttering shock all hell had broken loose.

Vernon had again been insisting that they give him to orphanage where they could 'cure' the boy. The not so gentle reminder of the possibility of spells around the house had just about halted him in his rage-filled rant, but only just. He refused to have Harry going out and 'infecting good, normal people', so when they turned three Harry was left at home with her while they sent Dudley to preschool.

They had already had a few problems with that, one being that Dudley apparently "terrorised" the other children – obviously that couldn't be true, not Dudders. She wouldn't raise her child to be a bully. The other problem was that he seemed to be less developed than all the other children his age, though certainly not physically. It was almost ironic actually now that she thought about it, considering that was the reason they had given to the neighbours about Harry not going. They had told everyone his parents were drunks killed in a car crash; it was hardly a stretch to imagine that his mother had continued to drink while pregnant with him and given him some issues by doing so. The neighbours had nodded gravely even as their eyes darted around her to look at Harry through the window, muttering about irresponsible scrounges on society and about how good it was of them to take him in.

In actuality though, the truth was the exact opposite of what they had said. It was obvious from the start that Harry was a very smart boy. He was able to talk properly in a simple conversation months before Dudley had been able to and at age four was now starting to be able to read, albeit with mistakes and quite slowly. She doubted Dudley even knew what a book was.

Ever since that night at dinner though Vernon had been on a mission to show Harry just how unwanted he was; everything given to him had to be of lower quality than what Dudley got, despite the fact that even now at age four the two boys had very little idea about the concept of value unless it was glaring them in the face. And so, Vernon often made sure it was. Dudley's was new, Harry's was falling apart. Dudley's was bright, colourful, comfortable, and Harry's was dull, rough and scratchy. But really, even considering this had been going on for years, this was ridiculous.

It was a Tuesday afternoon and Dudley was sprawled tiredly on the sofa after a long day of running around at school while Harry was sat on the floor, pushing around a battered old toy car whose wheel wobbled every time he pushed it. The familiar purr of Vernon's car pulled her from her newspaper and a few seconds later she heard the front door click open.

"I'm home, Pet!" his gruff voice echoed through the hallway, and several seconds later he waddled into the living room with two rocking horses clutched under his arms.

A rocking horse. She had no idea why Dudley even wanted a rocking horse; she knew the effort of pulling himself onto it was deterrent enough for him to use it a few times and then swiftly decide he no longer liked it. It was beautifully carved and just as beautifully painted so that it looked like a white stallion that had simply been shrunken down with a silky looking mane, a long tail and a plush seat with grips jutting out of the side of the horses head. All in all, Petunia thought that the only way Vernon could have gotten him a better one was to buy him a real pony.

Harry's though, she was surprised that Vernon had even brought it into the house. It looked to be sculpted by a blind man with a chisel who only had the vaguest idea of what a horse looked like, with vicious looking splinters and patches of mould sprouting in random places. The wood itself was damp and rotting and would probably crumble to pieces under even the slightest weight.

It would have been better if he had only gotten one, at least that way Harry could conceivably believe it was to be shared. And she was sure that Vernon knew that. Quick to anger, prejudiced and harsh Vernon may be, but he was not a stupid man. This was just a way to really show Harry that he didn't want him there – her husband was trying to make a power play to a four year old boy. Was this really the man she married?

"What?" Vernon snapped in response to her filthy look as he put the rocking horses down in front of the two boys and watched as Dudley excitedly ran towards his, his tiredness forgotten while Harry looked at his unblinkingly.

"He's just a little freak, what does it matter?"

His uncaring tone wrapped an icy hand around her throat and squeezed, and as she thought the grip only grew tighter. It was so very familiar; the golden child whose parents fawned over them, and the forgotten child who watched enviously from the doorway, unseen by those whose affection they craved. She felt like she was back in her childhood home, only instead of being preferred for his magic Harry would be rejected. That was not to say her parents were in any way uncaring towards her - they still asked her about her grades, worried when she hurt herself and listened indulgently when she needed to vent – but it was never quite as much as they did for Lily. They were always that bit more keen to listen and that bit more interested in what Lily had to say, and children almost always pick up on such things.

Petunia had grown bitter as time went on, and the thought of her little nephew one day harbouring the same bitter resentment towards her that she had held towards her own parents was a surprisingly painful one.

_'But it would be so much worse for him_,' a voice whispered in her ear.

Her parents had still acted as a loving mother and father, albeit with a favourite child that they didn't bother to try and disguise their preference for. But Vernon would never dream of acting in such a way towards Harry, and Petunia knew that instead of resenting them he would grow to truly hate them. The thought hurt far more than she thought it would.

"Pet?"

With a shake of her head Petunia looked up and saw Vernon stood stiffly in the doorway to the kitchen even as his eyes flicked repeatedly towards the chicken that could be seen cooking through the oven door. Did she really want this to be her life? She liked being a housewife, but did she really want _this_? Spending every day cooking and cleaning for a man who would never even think to thank her, collecting gossip and watching daytime television all the while her nephew, the child her sister had trusted her to care for as if he were her own, was treated as an annoyance at best. And even Dudley, deep down she knew that Vernon would ruin him. He would become a gluttonous bully without kindness or drive, much like his father.

So, with a final sweeping look around her perfectly normal living room of her perfectly normal house, she came to a decision.

**~Scene Change~**

A lot could change in five years, Petunia thought as she watched Harry rip the wrapping paper off his new Lego set and gleefully grin at her from his place on the floor of their small house. Dudley had an almost equally gleeful expression on his face next to him as the two boys shared a look, knowing they would both soon be upstairs in one of their rooms building it.

It was five years to the day that she had made her decision to leave Vernon, and she wondered how exactly the past years would have unfolded if she hadn't. Harry would be miserable, that she was sure, but would she be miserable too? Would Dudley be well on his way to becoming like his father? She was almost positive that she wouldn't be as happy with her life as she was now though. She wasn't completely sure happy was the right word – life was more tiring now, there wasn't as much money and so she couldn't afford some of the luxuries she had become used to – but she was content, and watching the two of them grin at each other was far more than she would have hoped for five years ago.

Before meeting Vernon she had wanted to be a nurse, and so she had started on the path to becoming one as soon as she left. She hadn't had the A-levels necessary to become one, so she had gone to night school to get them, all while working a full time job to raise two young boys. Once she had done that she had enrolled in a distance learning university that allowed her to do all her work from home and only occasionally had to meet with a university tutor or take tests on the university campus. She was halfway through her second year of the three year course and she was loving every minute of it, even despite the stress and the tiredness. It made her feel like the person she had been before her jealousy of Lily poisoned her.

The two boys did everything they could to lessen that burden though, and that was something that made her all the more grateful she left Vernon. Dudley would never have thought to try and do that under Vernon's influence, and he might not have even without him if it wasn't for Harry.

Harry was a very sweet, very kind little boy, but only when he was at home or with a select group of other people he had allowed to become his friends. When he was surrounded by unfamiliar people he tended to withdraw slightly. Petunia thought it would be fair to say he didn't really like people, but there was nothing wrong with being a little introverted. She was much the same way. He didn't seem to trust people very easily, but once he let you in he was fiercely loyal and would do almost anything he could for you. It was a trait that was extremely endearing a lot of the time, like when she would come home and there would already be food in the oven and the house would be clean so that she could she spend a little time relaxing, but at other times it could cause a lot of trouble.

There had been a group of boys at school not long after she divorced Vernon that had started picking on Dudley, and no matter how much he came distraught and no matter how many times she complained to the school nothing was ever done. They continued to call him slow, fat and stupid, and Dudley continued to come home in tears. And so, Harry had retaliated. There had been no actual proof it was him, of course, but she knew it was. The boys' shoes had been filled with mud and worms while they were in PE class, their jumpers had been stuffed down toilets, their things had been stolen and later found ripped or broken, and snakes had even been found in their bags.

She still had no idea how he managed that. When she asked he had simply said that he "asked them nicely". Honestly she wouldn't put it past the wizards to be able to talk to animals; how else would they have convinced owls to deliver their post and, more importantly, get it to the right place. It was downright strange, and the fact that it was snakes was rather scary. Evil, slimy little things snakes were.

He had been appropriately scolded for it, obviously, but she knew that he would still do the exact same thing again if he needed to. As it was he didn't; no one had bothered Dudley since.

She sometimes wondered whether they would have been friends if they hadn't grown up together, but as it was she was thankful they had. Harry was a good influence on Dudley with his reading and his patience, and equally Dudley was a good influence on Harry. Without Dudley, she doubted whether Harry would ever do anything a bit more risky. Of course, as a parent she wasn't sure her son and her nephew taking risks was a good thing to wish for, but life without any risk wasn't a life lived in her opinion. If she had been unwilling to take a risk she would still be in that damned marriage.

There were still times she saw a little of Vernon in Dudley, like in his fits of temper when he didn't understand his schoolwork or in his scathing mutters about other children at school, but they were few and far between. She thought that was Harry's calmness rubbing off on him. The two acted very much like brothers, except from the times when Harry acted more like his teacher. That was another of Harry's qualities that she hoped Dudley picked up – his nurturing side she supposed would be the best word. He wasn't particularly encouraging, but if anyone of his friends needed help he would gladly give it. He was the only one that Dudley let explain things to him; not even she was allowed to do that.

He was ten now though, and that meant it wasn't long until he would be going to Hogwarts. She had explained it all to him when he was seven, but only once he had promised not to tell anyone. She had stressed the wizarding world's obsession with secrecy; she didn't know what they would do if he told his friends. She had told him about Hogwarts, told him that his parents were magical too and that when he turned eleven he would get to explore that world himself. He had a lot of questions of course, but she hadn't been able to answer almost any of them. She had told him everything she knew, except how his parents died.

She didn't truly know herself what had happened except that a man who called himself Lord Voldemort had killed them, and she wanted to tell him more than just that. He deserved more than that one sentence. To do that though, she would have to go to Diagon Alley and find out herself what happened. She had been there before with Lily and her parents and she still remembered exactly where it was – she was unlikely to forget anything about that day – but she wasn't sure if she could even get in without a magical person dragging her through like Lily had all those years ago.

She would try though. That letter had said that he was important, and if that was true she certainly wasn't going to send him in blind.

**~Scene Change~**

Petunia was sure that she must have looked quite strange as she stood on the pavement of Charing Cross Road and stared at the boundary between the bookshop and the record shop. To her it just looked like the two were connected, but she knew there was a slimy little pub hidden between them that doubled as the entrance to the magical world. The more she stared the more the urge to look away grew, but after several minutes of staring she gave up hope that the illusion would break. She couldn't get in.

Feeling slightly dejected, she turned to return to her car when she saw a ginger man dressed in one of the most absurd outfits she had ever seen. A vivid pink button up shirt peeking out from behind a fur coat, clearly a woman's coat at that, navy blue business trousers and crocs in an offensive shade of yellow to top it all off. She blinked away her horror-filled confusion quickly and walked up to him, though interacting with such a man felt like there was spiders crawling over her skin. Were she not aware of the magical world and their obliviousness to the normal world she would have thought him an escaped mental patient who had been given a free pass in a charity shop.

"Excuse me, sir," she said quietly, making an effort to sound desperate as she obviously looked around for eavesdroppers, "my daughter is starting Hogwarts this year and she's just ran into the Leaky Cauldron without me. I can't get in by myself, could you help me get in?"

"Of course, of course," he said with a worried look as he grabbed her hand and dragged her into the pub without even bothering to look if anyone was watching them disappear into a building that wasn't there.

Her nose crinkled involuntarily as she was hit with the stench of smoke and her eyes widened at the blatant displays of magic everywhere she looked. A broom and a mop cleaning the empty parts of the pub by themselves, and judging by the state of the place not very well, the trays of drinks floating across the room and the group of pale, snarling creatures huddled in the corner. She had seen magic before, but that was decades ago and she was so busy staring that she barely noticed the man speak.

"My name's Arthur, Arthur Weasley. I'll have to let you in to the alley itself – you need a wand to open the gateway – but do you need any help finding your daughter?" he asked as he led her across the pub to a small walled courtyard.

"Oh, no, thank you. I just have to find the bookshop; she'll be there."

"Ah, a Ravenclaw then," he said enthusiastically as he tapped bricks with his wand seemingly at random, "all mine have been Gryffindor so far, only two left to go."

When the bricks flicked and twirled away to form the archway and she caught her first glimpse of Diagon Alley in decades she felt her jaw drop and her eyes glaze over. It was like being a young girl again her with Lily, wondering why her Hogwarts letter didn't come.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Arthur said from beside her, "You'll want Flourish and Blotts, about half way down on the left. I'll be in the apothecary for a while, so come and find me if she's not there and I'll have a few aurors come and look for her."

"Thank you."

With a final nod Arthur walked off down the street, drawing more than a few looks as he did so, and left her still staring in the gateway. Slowly she walked down the cobbled street, her head still turning every which way like it had the first time she laid eyes on the precariously stacked cauldrons and the fizzing, twirling spells that erupted every now and then from the sign of a shop called Gambol and Japes. It looked like the sort of shop both Harry and Dudley would love, and the sort that she would do her very best to avoid.

It didn't take long to find Flourish and Blotts and she quickly entered the endless shelves of books, clearly much more than should have been able to fit inside a shop even four times the size as this one.

She doubted Harry or his parents were named specifically; the letter had said that this Lord Voldemort figure had tried to take over Magical Britain, chances were he killed many more families as well as the Potters. It would follow, then, that he was mentioned in a book. At least, she hoped he was. Otherwise she would have to ask.

She saw several identical dark leather books perched atop a table in the centre of first floor, all with the word "reference" written across the cover in golden lettering.

When she opened one there were pages upon pages of book titles written so small she almost couldn't read them, seemingly in no order whatsoever. It would take hours if not days to trawl through every page and she had resigned herself to ask someone when a skinny man appeared next to her and picked up another of the books.

"Ancient Egyptian runes." He said before nodding to himself and disappearing amongst the shelves.

Of course these wizards had to have some magical way of doing things. They couldn't just put it in alphabetical order like normal people could they? They just had to be extravagant and show off how much they could do that normal people couldn't. She hoped Harry didn't turn into one of them. He really was too nice a boy to be ruined like that.

"Lord Voldemort." She said, having to resist the urge the sneer that pulled at her lip at being forced to say such a ridiculous thing.

Every person in earshot stared at her and gasped as if she had said something awful, and there was one woman who was even clutching at her heart with wide eyes and pale skin. These people were even more abnormal than she had thought. Petunia looked back down at the book to stop herself glaring back and watched as the letters seemed to blend into each other as ink dripped and smudged to form words.

_Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century Row 23, Shelf D  
The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts Row 23, Shelf D  
Notable Magical Names of Our Time Row 23, Shelf F_

With that she flipped the book closed and somewhat hesitantly walked into the shelves, ignoring the stares she could still feel on her back. It didn't take her long to find row 23, but just as she was about to start scanning the spines in search of any of the three titles she had been given another one caught her eye.

_Harry Potter: The Story of the Boy-Who-Lived_

She snatched the book off the shelf and hurried to the nearest table which she remained at for the next two hours before she slammed the book closed with a sigh. Harry wasn't just important in this world, he was hailed as their saviour. He was a _boy, _for God's sake. Hell, when it all happened he was barely a year old. The chances of him even remembering what happened were slim to none, and yet, he was considered some sort of mythical figure.

The book didn't actually say what had happened the night the Potters were attacked, only offered theories that seemed to directly contradict each other. No one knew then, which would open up the possibility that they would want to study Harry like some kind of lab rat to find out how he survived an unsurvivable curse with nothing but a scar. Obviously that couldn't happen; she would have to prepare him somehow, make sure he wasn't caught off guard.

What the book did say a lot about, however, was the man that Harry had supposedly killed. They had never found the body of this Lord Voldemort figure, though, which to her at least discounted the idea that he had died. Bodies didn't just vanish, and considering that the book had specifically said that a body hadn't been found she assumed it wasn't normal for their kind either. Apparently he hadn't just tried to take over their world, he had very nearly succeeded, and likely would have done had he not disappeared when he attacked Lily's house. The book said he was one of the most feared 'Dark Lords' in centuries hell bent on ridding the magical world of everyone who wasn't 'pureblood'. She vaguely remembered Lily saying when they were children that people like her were looked down on but that was the limit of her knowledge.

He had followers as well who called themselves Death Eaters, and some of them were almost as feared as he was. The book didn't say anything about what happened to these Death Eaters after their leader 'died', but she doubted every single one of them had been caught. That was almost as worrying as the lab rat possibility.

She really did hate the magical world. Life would be so much simpler if Lily had been a normal girl and had had a normal son.

Lily. Just like the letter the book largely skipped over the deaths of her sister and her brother in law, but she wondered what they would think if they were watching. She didn't believe in things like that, but still it was something she had thought about ever since Harry first turned up on her doorstep. She liked to think Lily would be at least satisfied if not pleased by how she was raising Harry. She wasn't the most affectionate or the most loving person, that just wasn't her personality, but Harry had no doubt that he was wanted and that he was cared for even if the hugs and the overt displays of pride and affection were few and far between. His upbringing would have been very, very different if Lily and her husband had lived, but given the circumstances she thought she was doing quite well.

Now came the problem of what to do with the information. She would have to tell Harry that his parents had been murdered and hadn't simply died, but if she was honest with herself it was long past the time for that. She would tell him about Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but she wouldn't tell him much. He was still only a ten year old boy; he didn't need to know what those people did. Honestly she wasn't sure if telling a ten year old that they survived an unsurvivable curse was a good idea – she didn't want him to think he was invincible – but he would find out anyway the very moment he entered the magical world. There wasn't any point in keeping it from him.

**~Scene Change~**

Harry tapped his fingers together in impatient excitement as he stared out the window and waited for his Hogwarts letter to arrive. It was his eleventh birthday and Aunt Petunia had promised that she would take him to Diagon Alley as soon as his letter arrived so that they knew what they were looking for. Personally he didn't know why they had to wait; he was sure that he could just ask for the first year things, and then after that all he would need was a wand, which was obvious. But still, Aunt Petunia insisted that they wait for his letter. He had a feeling she found his restlessness quite amusing.

Dudley was sat next to him, and judging by the way he was vibrating almost as excited as he was. Petunia had told him that he in all probability wasn't a wizard considering he never showed any accidental magic, but although that had bothered him it hadn't made him jealous, at least not much. Still, he was just as excited as Harry was to go to Diagon Alley and see the magical world.

The postman had come and gone hours ago and there had been no letter for Harry Potter, a fact that had made him more than a little nervous about his letter not coming at all. Aunt Petunia had said they – we, he reminded himself – used owls to send letters. Maybe an owl was going to bring it? Yes, that must be it. Wizards were show offs, Aunt Petunia had said. Of course they wouldn't just put it in the post.

He heard the sound of the soft clank of the letterbox closing, a sound that he almost ignored before he realised he hadn't seen anyone come up to the door. He almost tripped trying to sprint full speed round a corner and only just managed to avoid knocking over the table next to the door in his haste to get his letter. Having his letter would do him no good if Aunt Petunia refused to take him to Diagon Alley because he broke her favourite vase.

_Harry Potter  
The Third Bedroom  
17 St Pauls Avenue  
Slough_

Dudley appeared next to him just as he ripped the envelope open, hardly pausing to look at the emerald green ink or the strange yellowy parchment it was written on before his eyes starting jumping from line to line as he tried to read everything as fast as possible.

Petunia had followed him out into the hallway and was busy grabbing her keys from the hook as she watched Harry with a somewhat strained smile on her face. He was reacting almost exactly as Lily had the very moment the professor who had come to tell them about the magical world had left. It was a comparison that brought a sense of sadness that she had lost her sister over something that wasn't either of their faults, as well as shadows of the old jealousy and bitterness.

"Come on, let's get going. You can carry on reading that in the car."

It only took about forty minutes to reach Charing Cross Road, which in the opinions of Harry and Dudley was forty minutes too long. Aunt Petunia had refused to tell them what Diagon Alley was like because she "didn't want to spoil it". Neither Harry nor Dudley liked that reason very much, especially as it meant they had had to wait an entire year to see it.

Harry had to pull both Dudley and Aunt Petunia into the Leaky Cauldron and he was a bit disappointed by the gateway to the magical world. It was smoky, grimy and entirely empty but for one completely normal looking person in one of the booths and the incredibly old man behind the bar who reminded Harry of one of those hairless cats if it had had all of its teeth kicked out. He couldn't see any evidence of magic anywhere; it might as well have been a normal pub, albeit a dirty one.

"Excuse me," Petunia said to the barman, "could you let us into the alley please?"

"'Of course, of course. Muggleborn are you?"

" Just muggle actually," Aunt Petunia said, "its my nephew that's magical. His parents are at work so I had to bring him."

"Course they are, Ministry works folk to the bone. You wouldn't be the first nor the last to complain about them, I can tell you that much." He muttered as he walked them into a dead end alley and started tapping his wand – a real life magic wand! – against the bricks.

The bricks spun backwards to form a large archway that allowed Harry and Dudley to catch their first glimpse of Diagon Alley. They gaped.

Shop windows filled with wands and broomsticks and cauldrons and owls and jars full of some of the most disgusting things either of them had ever seen. It was absolutely fantastic. The only way Petunia could get them away from the joke shop was by reminding them that they didn't actually have any money to buy the fireworks or the dungbombs Dudley was gazing longingly at.

Dudley's whispered "what the fuck" when they saw their first goblin earned him a snarl from the guard as its claw-like fingers tightened around its spear and a slap on the back of the head from Aunt Petunia, which seemed to appease the goblin slightly judging by the slight lessening of its glare. The bank itself was ridiculous to all three of them with piles of gems and precious stones that were probably worth more than their house, all being peered at by well-dressed goblins behind marble desks. It almost convinced Harry that it was all an exceptionally strange dream; goblins in pinstriped suits and wire rimmed glasses were somehow far less believable than goblins existing at all.

The sneering goblin teller they walked up to barked out what sounded like orders in a horrible guttural language that grated against Harry's eardrums as soon as Aunt Petunia said his name, and the three of them were quickly escorted through a series of rough stone tunnels. Dudley was pale and absolutely convinced that they were going to be executed, and Harry didn't think it was that unlikely. It didn't take very long before they were led into a modest looking office occupied by a goblin that looked exactly the same as the goblins in the main hall, maybe a little older. It was hard to tell considering they were all wrinkled anyway.

As it turned out they weren't going to be killed, a fact that Dudley sighed loudly at. Apparently the Potter family was quite wealthy, the goblin said. They weren't by any means rich, but he had enough that money wouldn't be a problem for him or for his children assuming he wasn't an idiot with it. His great grandfather had apparently invented a now widely used potion so there was a constant and quite large revenue stream from that, but apparently a lot of it was from him. He got a cut of the profits from every Harry Potter themed product, and apparently there were a lot of them. Books, fireworks, even dolls. The thought of a doll of him existing in the world was faintly nauseating, but as he was getting a significant amount of money from it he couldn't really complain.

As well as the gold and the various books and possessions the Potters owned they also owned two houses, both of which were destroyed during the last war. One was a modest sized house in the countryside that had been destroyed by Death Eaters searching for his parents. It could be repaired according to the goblin, but it would either take a lot of time or a lot of gold. He had told them to take their time; he was eleven, he had no need for a house yet but he might as well get it rebuilt. The other was his parent's cottage, which had been seized by the Ministry and used as some sort of monument. Despite having no desire to ever visit the site of his parent's murder Harry was far from happy that it had been effectively stolen from him, but the goblin said he would have a better chance of getting blood from a ghost than getting it back. He was assured that everything from inside the house had been removed by the goblins and put in his family vault before anything could be 'misplaced'.

Family vault. As soon as he had heard those words he had asked to go and look. He was happy living with Aunt Petunia, but he would always wonder what his life would have been like if his parents hadn't died. He only had one memory of them from before they died that had flashed across his eyes the first time Aunt Petunia showed him pictures of them. He was lying in what he assumed was his cot with a mobile dangling above him, watching a dragon breathe fire while it chased a man on a broomstick around in circles. His mother and father were leaning over the side watching him with huge smiles on their faces and whispering to each other. He had no idea what they were saying, it all just sounded like noise to him, but they lookedhappy.

He was sure it was a memory too, not just a figment of his imagination like he had first thought. All orphans dreamed about their parents until they were more than just people with flaws and imperfections, he was willing to bet on that, but somehow he _knew _that it was real, and he knew from the way his parents looked at him that they loved him more than anything in the world. It was his most treasured memory. The prospect of reading the same books that they had read, touching the same furniture that they had touched, gave him an indescribable feeling in his chest.

Neither Dudley nor Aunt Petunia were allowed down into the vaults because they were muggles, not that Harry would have wanted them there anyway. This was something deeply personal that he didn't feel that even Aunt Petunia had any right to see. The twisting, plummeting cart ride deep into the dimly lit caverns of Gringotts was absolutely exhilarating, but it only served to momentarily distract him from the knot in his stomach that returned with a vengeance as soon as the cart screeched to a stop in front of a great wooden door.

He was excited, but he was also nervous. He didn't understand why he was nervous, he just was. There was absolutely no reason to be nervous, he told himself, but still when the door opened with a gentle caress from the goblin he spent several long seconds staring into the gloom. With a few deep breaths to still his twitching fingers he walked slowly forwards and as soon as his feet crossed the threshold torches sprung into light around the room, illuminating the contents in flickering light.

Mounds of gold and silver and bronze lined the walls, bookshelves full of books both old and new somehow stretched further than he could see, and countless bits of mismatched furniture that he assumed was from his parents' house snaked and curved at random. He wandered through the makeshift paths, running his fingertips across desks and tables and books, knowing that at some point his parents had touched it too. Tucked away towards the back was a white cot with the same mobile dangling above it just as he remembered, only now it was charred and splintered with one corner blown off. It gave off a sense of darkness that crawled across his skin, creeping between his upraised hairs and seeping into his pores.

He turned quickly away from it and walked in the opposite direction until he could no longer feel anything but the dust against his skin and stopped in front of a dark wooden cupboard with glass doors and ornate golden handles. It reminded him of the cupboard where Aunt Petunia displayed her good china at home, only instead of plates and bowls this one was filled with wands laid on deep purple fabric.

With some effort he stopped himself from yanking the door open and grabbing the first wand he could get his hands on. These were displayed and they were polished, not ice cream cones to be grabbed by a young boy from their parent's hand. Clearly they meant far more than that. There were dozens of them, far more than should have been able to fit, and he carefully picked up the one directly in front of him with a silver plaque next to it engraved with the name Eugene Potter.

Once his fingers grasped around its hilt he felt a cool, judgemental sensation until the feeling promptly turned into nothingness. The next one he picked up was fiery and uncontrolled and seemed to be raging at him for even touching it, and the one after that stung like he had dipped his palm in acid. There were wands that felt like ice, wands that crackled like lighting against his palm and wands that felt dead, as if they were no more than simple sticks. He spent what felt like hours and yet minutes holding wand after wand of countless Potters, but none felt right to him.

Tucked away in the corner he saw two wands that had been laid together that gave him a tickling feeling behind his eyes.

_James and Lily Potter  
1960 - 1981_

For several long seconds he ran his fingers across the silver before he picked up one of the wands. His father's, and somehow he just knew that it was his father's, gave him a hot, fluid-like feeling as if it were molten metal, while his mother's felt _alive _in an almost indescribable way_. _It flickered and danced against his skin yet it was still soft. Both gave him a tangible feeling of comfort, but he knew that it was not coming from the wands. They were not right for him.

The one that laid next to it felt soft and weak when he held it, and he had resigned himself to having to just go to a shop and buy one without the connection to his family when he picked up the next one in the row.

Instantly he felt a ferocious warmth shoot up his arm followed by an echo of an icy, bottomless darkness that was so alike and yet so different to what he felt radiating from his old cot. Sparks of red and blue and green and white erupted from the tip, glinting off the gold coins and bouncing off the stone floor while Harry stared down at it unblinkingly.

Judging by the other wands he thought this one was about average in length and in width, though it thickened towards the hilt. The wood itself was light brown and completely smooth but for a few chips that he assumed were from use during its lifetime. Overall it looked like an utterly average wand, but to him it felt so unbelievably powerful, as if there had been a dam across his magic that had suddenly come crumbling down.

_Charlus Potter  
1915 – 1980_

His grandfather's wand, judging by the dates. Harry spent several more long moments just holding it in his hand before he caught sight of his watch and immediately snapped out of his daze. He had been down here over an hour while Dudley and Aunt Petunia had to wait for him. He wasn't particularly concerned about them being worried about him – Aunt Petunia just wasn't the type to worry he didn't think – but he didn't want to keep them waiting all day. Besides, the sooner he got his books the sooner he could get home and try out his wand. As he left he scooped a generous selection of coins into the money bag he had been given – he would work out how much each coin was worth later – and picked up a what he supposed was a wand holder from a box next the cabinet. It was leathery but definitely not leather, more like snake skin, and looked like it would strap to your arm or ankle. The strap certainly wasn't big enough to go around your waist, but then with magic he had absolutely no idea what was possible.

The goblin gave him a particularly hateful sneer when he finally emerged from the vault and got into the waiting cart without a word. Harry followed quickly with his new wand, or old wand he supposed, in its holder and strapped to his forearm, not wanting to further irritate his only way out.

The cart ride up was almost as good as it was going down and before long he, Dudley and Aunt Petunia were making their way towards the bookshop, at his insistence. There were pre-made sets for each of the years so he didn't have to go hunting around for each of the books he needed, but obviously he still went wandering into the shelves. These were books of magical spells and potions, he wasn't exactly going to pass up an opportunity to learn how to make or cast more of them.

He ended up getting a few extra books about pretty much everything; history, potions, charms, transfiguration, herbology, runes and arithmancy, two subjects which didn't seem to be on the first year curriculum for some reason. The shopkeeper was kind enough to explain wizarding currency to him which actually made him even more confused. 17 sickles in a galleon and 29 knuts in a sickle? What sort of nonsensical numbers were those? His brain feel like it had been shoved into a blender as he counted out the coins. As they left the shop with his books shrunken in his pocket he decided that he agreed with Aunt Petunia's mutterings; wizards really were stupid.

They went through the rest of his list as quickly as they could – cauldrons and cloaks and telescopes just weren't as exciting as spellbooks. They did spend a little while in the apothecary staring at all the strange potions ingredients, or at least they tried to before Aunt Petunia dragged him and Dudley out with a look of distaste on her face. He and Dudley tried to sneak off to buy the dungbombs they had seen earlier but Aunt Petunia was having none of it, even after they promised they wouldn't use them at home.

He had even been allowed to have an owl so that he could write letters home, which actually surprised him a little. Aunt Petunia had been quite vocal about how stupid using owls for post was and how out of place they looked landing on their windowsill. Harry had wanted the beautiful snowy white owl but Aunt Petunia had said no. "It's not even native, all the neighbours will notice!" she had said. Harry wasn't sure if that was actually true, but he wasn't willing to push his luck too much. He had ended up choosing a brown owl with white and black speckled into his feathers and ear like tufts sprouting from his head. Aunt Petunia hadn't let him call him any of the strange names from his history of magic book either, so in the end he had decided to call him Charlie.

"All that's left now is your wand." Aunt Petunia said with a strange look on her face that Harry only just noticed before it disappeared.

"I've already got one." He said as he pulled the sleeve oh his jumper up to expose the holster strapped to his forearm and immediately realised he had no idea how to actually get the wand out.

"It's in here, I'll show you it when we get home though. We haven't got long until the shrinking charms on all my stuff wears off."

Aunt Petunia clearly knew he was lying but didn't call him on it, knowing that he wouldn't lie to avoid getting a wand and also picking up on his embarrassment. Dudley looked a little disappointed not to get to see the wand shop but followed them out of the alley nonetheless, albeit slowly, while Harry had to stop himself from walking too quickly in his excitement to get home and practice his new spells.

As it happened Harry had only just got to his room when the shrinking charms on his books and it took him nearly five minutes of trial and error to finally get his wand out of its holster. He had been waving his arm and flicking his wrist around randomly at the time so he wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to do it, but he figured now that he knew it involved his wrist in some way it wouldn't be too hard to figure out.

He spent a few moments just enjoying the feeling of having his actual magic wand in his hand before he grabbed _The Standard Book of Spell, Grade 1 _and skipped through the pages to the first spell. He wasn't really bothered about the theoretical bit of casting spells yet, he just wanted to cast them.

The first spell in the book was called the wand lighting charm, and after over a dozen attempts Harry managed to get the tip of wand to flicker. A few tries later he managed to get the tip to light and stay that way, and only then did he realise that he probably should have read a little more about how to turn it off. As soon as his concentration shifted from his spell back to the book the light died, and Harry decided that concentration must be a key aspect of spell casting.

The next few days continued in much the same way until he could cast both lumos and nox pretty consistently and hold the spell even while he wasn't giving it his full attention. After all, a spell that turned your wand into a light was a bit pointless if the spell failed every time you tried to look at what it was lighting up. The next spell in the book turned matches into needles, but as Aunt Petunia wouldn't let him touch the matches he had to skip it and instead try the next one: the levitation charm.

Unfortunately, he found this one far more difficult than he had lumos. After several hours of trying without even the smallest success he decided he should probably go back and read the theory part that he had ignored at first. There was probably a reason you were supposed to read it. However, the first thing he saw once he had flicked back was a full page warning in big bold letters.

**DO NOT CAST THESE SPELLS OUTSIDE OF HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY UNLESS IN GRAVE DANGER**

**DOING SO IS A VIOLATION OF THE REASONABLE RESTRICTION OF UNDERAGE SORCERY AND THE INTERNATIONAL STATUTE OF WIZARDING SECRECY, PUNISHABLE BY EXPULSION AND POSSIBLE IMPRISONMENT**

Shit.

For the next two days he refused to even touch his wand and was constantly on edge to the point that he started pacing around his room, shooting constant glances out his window, always expecting to see owls or wizards in police uniforms. Even when he and Dudley went out to the park to play football with their friends he was distracted, something which earned him a few mocking laughs when he missed chances that he really should be scoring. He just couldn't shake the fear that the other foot was going to drop and something horrible would happen.

But nothing did. No letters came, no wizard policemen appeared on his doorstep to throw him in prison. Nothing.

As soon as the anxiety faded a wide grin appeared on his face and he started practising his magic with abandon. He could do magic outside Hogwarts and no one would know, and that meant he had three weeks to practise as much magic as he could. He was considered the Wizarding saviour after all, it just wouldn't do to arrive at Hogwarts not being able to cast any spells.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Harry was awake long before his alarm went off on September 1st. In fact, falling asleep at all had been harder than almost anything he had ever done. He had stayed up late into the night practising not just his spells but his theory in case any of the teachers asked him questions. The only reason he had managed to force himself to sleep was because he didn't want to miss a single moment of his first day at magic school.

His trunk was already packed, his wand was in his holster and Charlie had left the night before. Harry had discovered that he seemed to understand everything that anyone said to him so Harry had told him to take his time flying to Hogwarts. He certainly didn't want to subject him to being caged for hours on end, and it saved him walking through a crowded train platform not only with a strange trunk but with an owl. He was going to get enough strange looks as it was.

He practically inhaled his breakfast and was waiting at the door with his trunk next to him before it was even eight o'clock despite Aunt Petunia continually telling him that they didn't need to leave yet and that there was absolutely no way they would be late. It was only an hour's drive, they didn't need to leave yet. She appeared more amused than anything by his nervous excitement, though also quite upset at the prospect of him leaving even if she was hiding it quite well. Dudley wasn't bothering to hide his own sadness at being left behind, even if he was happy for him as well. Harry had promised to write letters to both of them, and had also quietly promised Dudley that he would get his hands on some of those dungbombs and send them to him. They would have to wait a little while for that, though, just long enough to lull Aunt Petunia into a false sense of security.

When finally he and Aunt Petunia were darting their way through the morning traffic towards Kings Cross station Harry let himself fall into daydreams about what Hogwarts would be like. What would it look like? _Hogwarts: A History _didn't have any descriptions of Hogwarts itself, annoyingly. He supposed it could look like a normal school, albeit one that taught magic instead of maths, but he doubted it. This was a _magical school. _It would have to be something amazing, obviously. Maybe it was carved directly into a mountainside, or maybe it was floating in the clouds or underwater.

Despite his excitement, he was still a little worried about being away. Not away from home specifically, he didn't think he would have many problems with homesickness, but just _away._ Having to make new friends and figure new people out was going to be as tiring as it was difficult, and this was in a world where his every move was already going to be scrutinised because of something he didn't even remember doing. Some people were going to try and be friendly just because of his status as the 'Boy-Who-Lived' and he was going to have to try and sort them from the people who actually wanted to be friends with him. It was giving him a headache already.

While Aunt Petunia went to find a trolley to put his trunk on Harry took a moment to flip the sun visor down and check himself in the little mirror. Knowing that there would probably be people trying to find him on the train – everyone knew that this was the year Harry Potter started at Hogwarts – he had used some of Aunt Petunia's make up to hide his scar and worn a hat to try and hide his messy black hair that was, according to Aunt Petunia, almost perfectly described in the books about him. It was actually quite creepy how accurate the description was; the only thing wrong was that the books said he wore the circular wire glasses he had worn when he was younger until Aunt Petunia got fed up of him breaking them and got him contacts.

Maybe he had a stalker or something.

They got more than a few strange looks from men and women in suits and expensive looking shoes as he pushed his trolley across the station after Aunt Petunia as she led him towards the entrance to platform nine and three quarters. Really, you would have thought the letter would have told him how to get on to the platform. It was just lucky that Aunt Petunia had come with his mother when they were little and still remembered how to get on.

When she put her hand on his shoulder and told him to walk straight into the stone wall he almost thought she was joking. But then, this was Aunt Petunia. She didn't do jokes. And so he walked straight forwards and scrunched up his eyes at the last second, still half expecting to bounce straight off, and took a few steps past where he knew he should have clattered into the wall before he opened them again.

It was amazing. Not in a magical way – there were no goblins or bright jets of lights sparking across the platform – but he still felt all the breath being yanked from his lungs. A huge red steam engine gleamed in the artificial light that came from everywhere yet nowhere and mothers and fathers hugged their children goodbye before they rushed off to find their friends with their trunks either dragged or floating behind them.

Harry wasn't going to try that. He could levitate his trunk without too much trouble, he was sure of that, the trouble came when he was having to concentrate on avoiding people and looking around at the same time. He didn't really want to embarrass himself before he even got to Hogwarts.

Aunt Petunia's hand hadn't moved from his shoulder as they wandered a little further down the platform until she pulled him lightly to a stop and turned him to face her.

"You be good, Harry, and try to stay out of trouble." She said, though her face made it clear that she didn't think it would happen for a second.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

"Don't think I can't see you smirking young man. I don't want any letters saying you've been causing trouble. And be careful, there will people interested in you and those who want to use you. Keep an eye on that headmaster, just like I told you. Better to be suspicious and wrong than naïve and clueless."

Harry nodded obediently. They had been over all this multiple times over the last few days until her every warning was engraved on the inside of his skull.

"Your parents would be so proud of you, I'm sure of that."

And with that she pulled him into a hug that was over almost before it started, but to Harry it meant the world. Aunt Petunia didn't hug people. He could count on his fingers the number of times she had hugged him and still have a few fingers to spare. It didn't bother him though, in fact it just made those times more special. Even without them he had no doubt that she loved and wanted him, she just expressed it differently to some people and that was fine.

"I'll see you at Christmas, but if you try and bring any of those dungbomb things back I will send you straight back." She said, and Harry couldn't be sure if she was joking or not.

With a final wave goodbye she hurried off to go to work and Harry dragged his trunk to the nearest carriage and yanked it up the step, thankful that he had paid extra to get the featherweight charm on it. He still had to pull it through the quickly crowding corridor though. He really wished he knew how to shrink things, this whole thing would be so much easier.

Eventually he found an empty compartment near the back of the train and slid his trunk into it before he slumped into the seat. He just sat there, staring. It was starting to really hit him that he was leaving home for most of the year to go to a wizard school to learn spells and potions and to fly on a broomstick. It was absolutely ridiculous.

His mind was more focussed, however, on his parents. They had walked along this train, laughed with their friends and with each other in the exact same carriages he had just walked through. They could have even sat in the very same seat he was right in that very compartment.

He continued to sit there, watching more and more families flood the platform until he was sure that it was getting bigger, and ignoring the near constant clamour of voices that wandered through the carriages in search of an empty compartment. Eventually the train jolted forward as the last few students sprinted to get on and parents waved sometimes tearful goodbyes, and Harry just continued to watch as the platform became apartment blocks and apartment blocks became rolling hills. He didn't want to do anything other than that. He could learn spells and make friends when he got there, for now he just wanted to watch.

Unfortunately, that wasn't meant to be.

The door to his compartment slid open and he looked around to see a chubby, meek looking blonde boy who was practically hiding behind his two companions, quite unsuccessfully in Harry's opinion. One was a red headed girl with freckles dotted across her nose and the other a skinny girl with her blonde hair in pigtails.

"Can we sit in here?" the blonde haired girl asked, despite the fact that she had already sat down and was in the process of making herself comfortable.

He didn't even have time to reply before she turned her attention back to her friends. They at least looked apologetic.

"I'm Susan," the redhead said as she and the boy awkwardly shuffled inside, "sorry about barging in on you."

"We didn't barge in, we asked nicely." The blonde girl protested, and Harry had to resist the urge to raise his eyebrows at her.

"This is Hannah," Susan continued, "and this is Neville."

The blonde boy waved slightly from his place beside Hannah and Harry nodded politely back.

"James."

They all said hello as Harry returned to staring absently out the window. He hadn't been planning on using his father's name, it was just easier if he avoided the hassle of being Harry Potter until he couldn't any longer. He had considered telling them to leave him alone but decided against it. That would be rude, and Aunt Petunia had taught him that you should only be rude to someone if you're willing to go all the way through with it. Best not to make enemies before he even got there. It would be a little awkward if he had done it and they ended up sharing a class.

Despite his efforts to tune them out, though, their conversation still trickled into his mind and he was forced to abandon his attempts to pretend he wasn't there.

"Eugh, can you believe him? I don't understand how someone can be so full of themselves before they've even started Hogwarts. With any luck he'll end up in Slytherin and we won't have to deal with him." Hannah said.

"We were sitting with Zacharias and Ernie," Susan said to him, "Ernie's nice, Zach is a bit cocky but as all our families are friends we have to put up with him. He was boasting about how he was going to be top of the year even though he has never actually cast a spell, so we left."

"Sounds like a charming guy. I'll be sure to avoid him." Harry drawled to smiles from his new companions.

A little while later the compartment door was yanked open again, this time by a gangly looking boy with hair more violently ginger than anyone Harry had ever seen. He wondered if magical children shared the belief that gingers had no soul with their muggle counterparts, because if they did that boy was in for a tough time.

"Have any of you seen Harry Potter? We're going to be in Gryffindor together, everyone knows the Boy-Who-Lived will be in Gryffindor. Thought we'd best get to know each other before any of the duffers or nerds or snakes get their claws into him."

Harry really didn't like this boy and suddenly disliked him even more when everyone turned to look at him. His hat seemed to be mocking him from where he'd thrown it on top of his trunk. He really hoped none of them had enough common sense to figure it out.

"I've told you already that my name is James, not Harry, and yes, I have black hair and green eyes. So do a lot of people. But I don't wear glasses and I don't have a scar on my forehead, and everyone knows that Harry Potter has both."

The ginger boy scrutinised him for a few more seconds before he walked off, satisfied that Harry Potter wasn't here, and Harry could hear him barge into the next compartment and ask the exact same thing.

Hannah quickly started gossiping about the great Harry Potter – what house do you think he'll be in? Where has he been? Do you think it's true that he's been living in a castle? – while the other two half-heartedly joined in. Susan kept looking at him out of the corner of her eye in what he supposed was her best effort at being discreet while Neville did the same only far less frequently, clearly scared of being caught out.

Harry decided he couldn't really be bothered with any more visitors, so he reached into his trunk and pulled out his spellbook. He thought that now seemed like an opportune time to learn the locking spell. He already knew how to cast the unlocking spell so getting out again wouldn't be a problem. The only reason he had learnt that spell was because Aunt Petunia had locked the Wii remotes away as a punishment while she was at work and he and Dudley had really wanted to play Mario Kart.

He paid no attention to the other three people in his compartment as he practised the wand movements and murmured the incantation under his breath. The book was very specific about how he was supposed to pronounce it, but judging from the other few spells he had learnt pronunciation didn't seem all that important. As long as he still concentrated on the right things happening then he was generally able to do it. Saying it a certain way might have made it a little easier, but then he would be concentrating on pronouncing it a way that his brain didn't like instead of the effects of the spell. That just seemed counterproductive.

He had a theory that the words weren't actually that important and that it was perfectly possible to cast spells without them. He didn't know if it was true but he decided he would ask a professor at some point. There was no use asking before he had learnt to cast spells normally.

Luckily for him the book said it would make a sound when the spell was cast so he didn't have to keep getting up to check if the door was locked, or worse, ask someone else to do it. It still took him over a dozen tries before he managed it and the door locked with an odd squelching sound.

"What?" he said, slightly irritated by the looks he was getting, "It's only a first year spell."

"Yeah, but it's near the back of the book. It must be harder than what you should be able to do before even starting Hogwarts." Hannah argued.

"Why must it? This isn't muggle School where you need to learn to do one thing before you can do another. It's not like I need to know how to transfigure a matchstick into a needle in order to lock a door."

Harry wasn't sure how much he would get on with Hannah if they ended up either in the same class or the same house. She seemed nice enough, just too loud for his tastes and a little impressionable. In fairness though, that summed up most eleven year olds. It was one of the reasons his friendship group at school had only included Dudley and three others.

"Er, how are we going to get out when we get there?" Neville's quiet voiced asked.

"I'll just unlock it." Harry shrugged as he put his book back in his trunk and returned to watching the sky slowly darken.

From the looks on their faces they weren't sure it would be that easy, but then he wasn't overly bothered about that. It did feel a little like showing off, but once they found out he was Harry Potter he doubted they would be surprised he knew a few spells already.

The rest of the train ride to Hogwarts was mostly quiet, at least for Harry. Hannah, Susan and Neville continued to talk lowly and eventually pulled out a deck of cards that, for some reason, exploded. Harry found that incredibly annoying but didn't bother complaining. They had asked if he wanted to play to be fair to them.

The only excitement, if it could be called that, was when a boy so pale Harry was surprised he was allowed outside tried to pull open the door while his two goons stood stupidly behind him. Once he worked out he was locked he settled for simply sneering through the glass at Susan in particular before he stormed petulantly off.

From the scathing mutters from his companions Harry learned that the boy was called Draco Malfoy and was a spoilt, arrogant child who swanned around like he owned the place simply because his family was rich. His father, Lucius, was allegedly a prominent Death Eater during the war but bought his way out of prison and was now the Minister's right hand man. If that was true then Harry had serious concerns about magical Britain as a whole – there should be no way someone like that should remain in any position of power, never mind as the Minister's most trusted advisor. Susan's aunt was in charge of something called the DMLE and had had it out for Malfoy Senior ever since he slithered his way out of Azkaban, whatever that was. He assumed it was a prison of some sort.

The sun had long since disappeared below the horizon when finally they pulled into Hogsmeade station, all with their robes now pulled over their heads. With some difficulty Harry resisted the urge to smile smugly at the others when he unlocked the door on his first attempt, to their very obvious surprise.

It took a few minutes for them to fight their way through the stream of other students that were emerging from their own compartments and make their way down the train to the exit. The platform was so full of students pushing between each other that he could barely get off the train, and when he did it was like stepping into rushing water.

"FIRST YEARS! FIRST YEARS THIS WAY!" a booming voice bellowed and Harry waded through the current of black cloaks towards a man so large that he made Harry wonder if giants actually existed.

Soon Harry and the other first years were following the huge man who had since introduced himself as Hagrid down a steep slippery path that was lit only by the swinging light of Hagrid's torch. You'd think they could magic up a few more lamps at least, so that people weren't bumping and tripping over each other like they were now. Harry was sure he could hear Hannah hissing at Neville for stepping on her cloak in amongst the sharp intakes of breath every time someone slipped.

Eventually they rounded a small corner and everyone present let out a small gasp at their first sight of Hogwarts as it peeked through a gap in the treetops. The castle was massive, perched on a mountain with bright lights shining out of countless windows and towering turrets, the moon peeking out from behind the tallest spire and all of it reflected in the shining surface of the lake below.

Harry thought it was magnificent. When he had imagined what a truly magical school would look like he hadn't even come close to this.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid shouted with a gesture towards a small fleet of even smaller boats at the water's edge.

All of the first years rushed to get in a boat with their friends and Harry ended up in the same one as Hannah, Susan and Neville, who was looking at the water with an expression of pure terror on his face.

"Are you following us?" Susan joked.

"I was in the compartment first, so if anyone is following it's the three of you." He joked back.

Harry quite liked Susan from their very limited interaction, but he would reserve judgement until he got to know her better. If she looked at him any differently once she found out he was Harry Potter than she did now than his estimation of her would swiftly plummet, if she didn't then he could see himself being good friends with her. He had hardly heard Neville speak so he didn't really have an opinion on him yet other than that he really needed to work on his self-confidence.

"FORWARD!" Hagrid shouted.

The boats began slowly gliding across the lake with a jolt, slicing through the moon and rippling the clouds as the first years craned their necks to keep as much of the castle in sight as they could.

A yelled warning had them all ducking their heads as they entered a dark tunnel in the cliff face until they came to a stop at a wide underground pier. Carefully they all clambered out of their boats onto the pier and then followed Hagrid up a flight of stone steps that led to a great wooden door. Neville was muttering worriedly about his pet toad while the two girls assured him a house elf would find him. Harry disregarded the fact that someone was keeping a toad of all things as a pet in favour of the fact that elves existed. Harry wondered if he could get a picture of one; Dudley had had an obsession with archery ever since he saw Legolas in Lord of the Rings. He would have a heart attack.

With a glance around Hagrid raised a meaty fist and banged on the door three times, and moments later the door swung open and a tall, stern looking witch stood in the doorway wearing emerald green robes, her black hair done up in a tight bun.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

With that she pulled the door wide open and ushered them into entrance hall, big enough to fit the entirety of the his house in, with flickering torches hanging from the walls and a domed ceiling that faded into shadow before its peak. Harry could hear the buzz of hundreds of voices through the large door to his right but the first years were instead shown into a small antechamber at the side.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, my name is Professor McGonagall and I am the Deputy Headmistress. The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall you will be sorted into houses. While you are here, your house will be like your family. You will sleep, eat and take classes with your house and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Each have their own noble history and each have produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are here at Hogwarts, you will earn house points for your successes and any bad behaviour will be punished by the loss of house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most house points will win the house cup, a great honour. I hope each and every one of you will be a credit to your house.

"The sorting ceremony will start in front of the other students in a few minutes. I recommend you use the time until then to smarten yourselves up." She said as her eyes lingered on the ginger boy from earlier.

Neville fretfully adjusted and readjusted his cloak while Harry ran a hand nervously through his hair, knowing that it couldn't be any more messy than it already was. There was scattered gossiping about how people thought they would be sorted that included fighting a troll and taking a written exam. Both were quite obviously wrong. Harry was betting on something flashy, because according to Aunt Petunia all wizards were show-offs and he had yet to see much that disproved that.

Gasps and even fearful yells echoed around the room when a group of ghosts drifted up through the floor, acting as if they had no idea any students were there. Harry had absolutely no interest in whatever pre-planned nonsense they were spewing, he was too busy starting at _actual ghosts. _He couldn't wait to tell Dudley about this; he was scared enough of horror films as it was. If vampires and werewolves were real as well then that really would be the icing on that particular cake.

A few moments later Professor McGonagall returned and ushered the ghosts away in irritation. The first years formed a line behind her as commanded and, once she was satisfied with their presentation, led them into the Great Hall.

It was huge, with beautiful stained glass windows and four long tables with different coloured table cloths running lengthways up to the front were there was a raised horizontal platform, atop of which was another table where the professors were sat. The roof didn't even look like it was there as Harry looked up at the night sky, almost expecting to feel the rain all on his face before he heard a girl say that it was bewitched to be see through, despite the fact that no one had actually asked. At the front of the hall stood a three legged stool on top of which sat a dirty, ripped wizards hat.

Well, Harry thought, it certainly wasn't flashy.

After a few seconds the rip seemed to move until it looked vaguely mouth-like, and then it started to sing what had to have been the worst song Harry had ever heard. The older students gave it the sort of applause usually only reserved for world class musicians, and Harry privately wondered whether all wizards liked this sort of thing. If so he was going to have to find out if there was a spell that would block his ears.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted." Professor McGonagall said from beside the hat.

"Abbott, Hannah."

Hannah practically skipped up to the stool and pulled on the hat which dropped down until all that was visible was her chin.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" It screamed after a few seconds, and the table that was cloaked in yellow burst into thunderous applause as she ran over to join her house.

"Bones, Susan."

The hat took a little longer than it had for Hannah before it screamed Hufflepuff once more, and then the steady stream of names continued.

A boy called Terry Boot was the first Ravenclaw and a lumbering troll of a boy the first Slytherin. The girl who had been adamant that they would sorted by an exam was sent to Gryffindor, surprisingly, as was Neville, even more surprisingly. The boy seemed to be afraid of his own shadow and yet was sent to the House of the Brave. Maybe Neville was more than met the eye. Draco Malfoy was sent to Slytherin almost before the hat had even touched his head, as was his other thug who was apparently called Goyle. Just from looking at him Harry wasn't sure he would be able to spell it.

"Potter, Harry."

There was a sharp upturn in noise when his name was said as everyone craned their neck to try and get the best view they could. When he started walking up there was even more muttering and he saw Hannah send him a strange look that was somehow both angry and fawning at the same time. Neither Susan nor Neville looked particularly surprised.

One of the professors, a pale skinned, greasy haired man was staring at him with undisguised loathing and Professor McGonagall looked a little softer than she had a moment before, while an incredibly old man with a beard so long he could trip over it was leaning forward in his seat with far more interest than was healthy. That was Dumbledore then, as if the throne like chair on which he was sat hadn't already clued him in.

He only saw the countless staring faces for a split second before the hat fell over his eyes and he heard a whispering in the back of his mind.

"Oh you are an interesting one, aren't you?" The voice said.

Harry jolted slightly. The damn _hat _could speak in his head? Did that mean it could see all his thoughts and all his memories as well?

"Yes, Mr Potter, I can. Fear not, I am unable to divulge any of what I see even if I wanted to, no exceptions. It is a curse that I must bear in that I am unable to help if what I see in a child's memories is darker than what I see in yours. As for what I see in you, Mr Potter, well I am intrigued. You are a strange concoction, full of seemingly opposite attributes and I honestly am not be sure which house you would grow best in.

"You have the courage and sense of nobility of a Gryffindor, but you know when it is best to keep your mouth shut and be a little more sneaky about it, unlike most of Godric's house. I saw what you did to those boys at school. Very Slytherin of you, Salazar would have approved. He would have liked you far more than those than currently inhabit his house, especially given your gift. I suggest you keep the fact that you are a Parselmouth – that you can speak the language of serpents – a secret, Mr Potter; the gift has been slandered and twisted over the centuries and you will most certainly be criminalised for it. As for Slytherin itself, you certainly possess an ability to be cold and calculating when the situation calls for it, but it is not natural for you. No, I don't think you would do well in the snake pit. The politics and the hierarchy would not sit well with you. Very dangerous, and not just for you I don't think. No, dangerous for all involved.

"Ravenclaw though, oh there is a house that you could thrive in. Intelligence, curiosity, surrounded by others who would push you to be the best you could be. It is certainly a possibility. That leaves only Hufflepuff. Patient, as shown by your revenge on those boys in retaliation for your cousin, even if that is not normally how a Hufflepuff would display that particular trait. Hardworking, kind, fair and loyal, but only to those who have earnt your trust. Not an easy thing to do, it seems, but I would say that it is worth the effort. Granted, you're not quite as outgoing as many in the House of the Loyal are, but I have sent others like you to Hufflepuff and they have done extremely well. Mr Scamander is a prime example."

Harry had no idea how long he had been sat there but it certainly felt far longer than any of the others that had gone before him. He could still vaguely hear the hat in his mind, seemingly mumbling and muttering to itself as it thought.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" it yelled so suddenly that Harry jumped out of his skin.

The Great Hall was completely silent for a few seconds before the Hufflepuff table burst into screaming applause so loud that Harry was surprised Dumbledore didn't drop dead of a heart attack. The rest of the hall, students and teachers alike, were staring at him as if something had gone wrong and he quickly walked over to Hufflepuff table in the hope that they would stop looking at him. They didn't, of course, they just started whispering as well until by the time he had sat down the Great Hall sounded like it was infested with bees. It took an echoing gong-like noise from Professor McGonagall's wand for everyone to be quiet enough for the next person to be sorted, but even then Harry could feel countless sets of eyes drilling into him.

Harry mostly ignored the rest of the sorting in favour of a particularly interesting mark on the table in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his new housemates shooting him glances when they thought he wasn't looking only to look away as soon as he raised his head. The Gryffindors looked like they had been slapped in the face and some were even loudly announcing that the sorting hat must have made a mistake; there was no way the Boy-Who-Lived was a 'duffer'.

Harry really hated that name. He thought The Boy-Who-Lived-And-The-Parents-Who-Didn't would be more appropriate.

When the sorting finally ended the heads of the older students turned expectantly to Dumbledore as he stood up, his arms wide open and looking as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see the hundreds of students looking back at him. Harry doubted that was the case.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before the feast commences I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

With that he sat down and the silence that had engulfed the hall shattered as conversations sprung up while everyone reached for the food that had appeared, the tables now covered almost end to end with different dishes. Harry tried to work out if this was Dumbledore's idea of a joke, but as far as he could tell he was totally serious and from the way the older students reacted this was a totally normal occurrence. He wondered whether the headmaster had been hit too hard on the head at some point, or maybe he was just going senile. The man didn't look much better than the mummies he had seen on TV.

Harry had expected everyone to be clamouring to talk to him and ask him questions, but instead they just carried on looking. He honestly wasn't sure which he would have preferred. The posh looking boy with curly brown hair sat next to him seemed to gather up his courage for a few seconds before he turned to Harry with his hand outstretched, which Harry shook with some bemusement.

"Hello, my name is Justin Finch-Fletchley. I do hope you don't mind me asking, but why is everyone staring at you?"

"Something happened when I was a baby that really shouldn't have, and now I'm famous for it. When you find out what that was you'll figure out why I don't want to talk about it."

His voice seemed to make his housemates realise he was a person not a statue as their eyes moved from him to their friends and they started to load up their plates. Harry helped himself to some of the food that had appeared on golden plates in the centre of the table and was quite prepared to eat by himself when Susan and Hannah plopped down across from him.

"Why didn't you tell us you were Harry Potter?" Hannah demanded.

"Because it was easier not to be," he shrugged.

Hannah and several others in earshot looked aghast at the idea that he wouldn't want to be the world's most famous orphan, but Susan looked like she at least kind of understood what he was saying. The people around him started to chat between themselves – the first years comparing backgrounds, the older students introducing themselves and giving them a few tips on how best to settle in to life at Hogwarts – but Harry wasn't really in the mood for talking.

He felt a little overwhelmed if he was honest with himself. This was the most people he had ever been in one room with in his life, and he was the centre of attention of every single one of them. He liked people, just not when there was so many of them. And all that wasn't even considering the new sights and smells and sensations rubbing across his skin. Just sitting there it felt like he was in the centre of a warm wind that was coming from every direction.

Luckily his housemates were kind enough to leave him be, and for that he was quite thankful. He would have felt obliged to answer them just because he was Harry Potter – he was supposed to be their personal golden boy, it wouldn't do to be rude on his first day. As Aunt Petunia had said, first impressions matter.

Just from looking at the other tables he doubted that he would have gotten the same treatment anywhere else.

The Gryffindors looked to be the boisterous, overly confident ones who would have more than likely talked at him until they eventually expected him to reply. Harry was surprised they could act so unrestrained and be so loud without some form of alcohol involved. He certainly wouldn't have been able to, not with so many people there.

The Ravenclaws and the Slytherins were both staring at him, though their looks held vastly different emotions. Many of the Ravenclaws were looking at him as one would a particularly challenging puzzle, with a sense of cool curiosity that made Harry feel like he was a bug being examined under a microscope. On the Slytherin table there seemed to be two distinct groups; those that were glaring at him hatefully and those that seemed to be assessing him. He preferred the hatred, at least with them he knew what to expect from here on out as he tried to mentally catalogue their faces.

When the puddings finally vanished from the plates and Dumbledore stood up once more Harry was more than ready to retreat to his bed, but it seemed he would be forced to suffer through a little more.

"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. First years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all students. A few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." He said with a glance towards the Gryffindor table.

"Quidditch trials will take place in the second week of term and Mr Flich has asked me to again remind you that magic is forbidden in the hallways. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not want to a die a very painful death."

Every student stared at Dumbledore and he simply smiled back, as if he had just imparted on to them a great wisdom.

"And now, bedtime. Off you trot. Pip Pip!"

The sound of benches scraping against stone echoed around the hall as students trooped towards their respective dormitories. Harry and the other first year Hufflepuffs followed one of the prefects, Nathan he thought his name was, down the marble steps into the basement.

"Has Dumbledore ever said something like that before? 'A very painful death'?" Harry heard someone ask, though he had no idea who it was in the crowd of bodies.

"Not like that, no. He normally gives us a reason we can't go somewhere. I would have thought he'd tell the prefects at least, but he hasn't. Not yet anyway. We've only been here a few hours."

Harry didn't trust Dumbledore. Aunt Petunia had told him not to and he was certainly seeing the wisdom in her advice. Telling a room full of teenagers not to go somewhere if they didn't want to die a 'very painful death', all while smiling benignly, was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. He was willing to bet the Gryffindors would be visiting that particular corridor as soon as they could. And he just so happens to say it the very same year that Harry comes to Hogwarts. Funny that.

They came to a stop in front of a stack of huge barrels that Nathan proceeded to tap in a vague sort of rhythm. The lid of one the barrels silently swung open to reveal a passageway that Nathan ducked in to, waving at the first years to follow him through towards the light at the other end.

The common room they walked into was large and round, with overstuffed sofas and comfortable armchairs dotted around the room. A fire was crackling merrily below a golden mantelpiece with badgers carved painstakingly into it and that had been lined with so many potted plants that it was more like a forest. Above the mantelpiece hung a portrait of plump, smiling woman with red hair and kind eyes that Harry assumed was Helga Hufflepuff herself. The walls were a soft gold and punched with large circular windows that he could see stars and grass and flowers through, swaying in an invisible wind. Harry had no idea how that was possible considering they were in the basement. Magic, he supposed.

"Boys dormitories to the left, girls to the right." Nathan said as he pointed towards two sets of stairs that descended even further below ground.

"You'll want to get to sleep quickly; classes starts tomorrow."

Harry made eye contact with Susan and Hannah across the room and awkwardly waved goodnight before he walked down the stairs until he came to the door marked with a golden 1. There were a few other boys already in there that he ignored, despite their whispering and staring. His bed was the one in the centre, directly in front of the door with two other beds either side, or at least it was until he dragged his trunk to the bed in the corner and levitated the other boy's trunk to where his had been.

Again ignoring their now renewed whispering – "He did magic! We haven't even had a lesson yet!" – Harry entered the bathroom, locked the door behind him and leant against the sink as took a few deep breaths and stared at himself in the mirror. This whole thing was already far more stressful than he thought it would be. He hadn't quite considered what it would mean to be Harry Potter; yes, there would people who wanted to use him or manipulate him or even attack him. But there would also be people that didn't want to do any of those things, but they would still stare at him anyway.

Tiredly, he brushed his teeth and changed into his pyjamas before crawling into his four poster bed and pulling the curtains around it, hoping that the attention would taper off once he had been around for a little while.

The next morning Harry was up and dressed before any of his dorm mates woke up and entered the common room with a book in hand. There were a few older students already leant over tables or reading on sofas; presumably either the more studious of the lot or those that hadn't done any of their homework over summer. Judging by the frenzied scribbling he could hear it seemed the latter was more common.

Still though, they all stopped and stared at him as he appeared at the top of the staircase. The trouble with a round common room, Harry thought, was that it was mightily difficult to find a corner to hide in, so he had to settle for an armchair that faced away from most of the other people. Before he had come to Hogwarts Harry had spent almost all his time learning actual spells, so he figured he should probably start reading some of his other books. His brief skim of the potions book before hadn't filled him with much enthusiasm so he had opted for one about arithmancy. It wasn't on the first year curriculum, granted, but it was still better than reading his history of magic book. From what he had overhead the night before that was effectively going to be a free period.

He had been good at maths at school, very good, but that certainly didn't mean it was his favourite subject, and arithmancy seemed to be all about the magical properties of numbers. He had been ready to throw it back in his trunk before the introduction said it was a key aspect in rituals and spell creation. The prospect of one day making up his own spells was more than enough to override his hesitancy for numbers. He was only a few pages in but it was all actually quite interesting so far.

He had just started a passage about how spells could apparently be broken down into numerical form when Susan and Hannah sat down on the sofa in front of him.

"Good morning!" Hannah said in a tone far too energetic for eight in the morning.

"Morning."

His book was still open on his lap as he looked at them, wondering what exactly they were expecting. He'd shared a train compartment with them for a few hours and during that time had barely spoken, and then he'd shared a few more words with them after that. Were they friends? He supposed they were the closest thing he had to friends here, but did that actually make them friends? The last time he had had to make friends was when he had started school and it had been much easier and much more clear-cut then. You just had to share your coloured pencils or something and that was that, you were friends for the next five years.

"Arithmancy isn't on the curriculum, you do know that right? I think it might be one of the choices in third year." Susan said.

"I know, I just bought books on everything when I was in Diagon Alley. It was either this or potions."

Both Susan and Hannah nodded as they started predicting just how dull potions would be. Hannah seemed a little more enthusiastic about it than either Harry or Susan because of the importance of various magical plants, but she still wasn't exactly excited for it. The professor was a bit of a tosser apparently as well according to some of the older students. Harry hoped Professor Snape wasn't too bad; magic school was supposed to be fun.

A few minutes later they were lead back through the corridors towards the Great Hall and this time the prefects leading them pointed out a few secret passageways that would help them navigate the castle a little quicker. Hogwarts was apparently filled with secret passageways that somehow skipped floors or went to the other side of the castle entirely in a few steps. Only the caretaker Mr Filch knew where they all were, as well as maybe the Weasley twins in Gryffindor. They would be escorted to their first lesson of each subject so that they knew where their rooms were and then they were on their own, so it would be wise to try and learn some of the passageways in case they were running late.

Harry, Hannah and Susan again sat with each other for breakfast, and Harry figured he should probably at least find out the names of the rest of his yearmates. There was Justin, the posh seeming boy from the night before. He was muggleborn and was down for Eton before his letter came, but even if he was posh he didn't seem snobbish. There was Ernie, a pureblood wizard who Harry rather liked. The first thing out of his mouth was to ask how he was dealing with being the centre of attention. And then there was Zacharias, who was pretty much how Harry had imagined him from Hannah's small rant on the train; cocky, self-centred, insensitive and just all round unpleasant. In contrast to Ernie, the first thing he had asked was how he survived the killing curse.

Timetables were handed out by a kindly, squat little witch with laugh lines and wavy grey hair who introduced herself as Professor Sprout, their Head of House and the herbology professor. She reminded him of the woman in the portrait above the common room fireplace.

He may have liked her, he thought to himself an hour or so later, but he certainly didn't like her subject. Herbology was taught in the greenhouses behind the school and they were uncomfortably hot and filled with the smell of dung. It was just magical gardening, and the only person he had ever met who liked gardening less than him was Dudley. He partnered with Susan while Neville and Hannah partnered together on the other side of the greenhouse, and both of them seemed to be having the time of their lives. Susan said the two of them had always loved plants, which to Harry seemed rather sad.

History of Magic was just as the older students had said: effectively a free period. The class was taught by a ghost who had managed the actually rather impressive task of making goblin wars sound unbearably boring. Instead of listening to him drone on, Harry opted to read one of his other books instead, just as most people were doing.

After that was transfiguration, and when they had arrived he would have thought Professor McGonagall late if not for the smug warnings of the older students to "expect a surprise". The room was empty but for a tabby cat that was sat stiffly on the desk, and only once everyone had arrived did the cat leap from the desk and transform into Professor McGonagall.

Harry decided that would be a skill he would learn as soon as possible, except hopefully for something a little cooler than a house cat.

Almost immediately Harry decided his first impression of impression of Professor McGonagall had been correct as she sniffed imperiously down at them, and that impression was only strengthened as the lesson went on. She was strict and clever and told them in no uncertain terms that any messing around would not be tolerated. Harry didn't think anyone was foolish enough to do that.

She had started by giving them matchsticks and telling them to turn it into needles, the thing Harry had been waiting impatiently to finally try. It had taken him a while, partly due to the fact that he had gotten used to casting charms, but he had managed to turn it into a pretty good needle. Professor McGonagall had given him a strange smile and 10 points for Hufflepuff. The only other person who had managed it was a Gryffindor called Hermione Granger who had given him a taunting look across the classroom because she managed it a few minutes before he did.

The charms professor was a tiny little man called Professor Flitwick who had to stand on a pile of books just to see over his desk. Harry didn't know why he couldn't just transfigure the chair to fit a man of his size a little better, or just get a smaller desk, but to each their own he guessed. They were excitedly told to try to cast the _lumos _charm, which Harry did on his first attempt with very little effort at all, and he didn't even bother looking at Granger. That seemed to infuriate her even more.

The professor had come running over then, squeaking about how he was just like his mother. Lily Potter was, it turned out, gifted at charms, and if Professor Flitwick's excitable speech was to be believed she was a long way beyond simply being gifted. At that moment Harry decided that he would do his very best to learn as many charms as humanly possible.

Defence Against the Dark Arts sounded like the most interesting lesson, but actually it was pretty much the opposite. Professor Quirrell seemed to be afraid of his own shadow and had a stutter so bad that it made understanding what he was saying almost impossible. But Harry thought there was something off about him. The look in the man's eyes didn't match the stuttering mess that he seemed to be, and every time Quirrell turned around Harry felt a sharp tingling pain in his forehead. He resolved to remain cautious when Quirrell was around.

He, Susan and Hannah continued to become friends, even if Harry wasn't entirely comfortable applying that description yet. He had yet to tell them much about him beyond the fact that no, he hadn't grown up in a castle and in fact lived with his aunt. That was really the limit of personal conversation, which he supposed might be because the three of them had grwon up together anyway.

They had already been given homework – which Harry thought was a strange thing to call it considering this was a boarding school – for the subjects they had had lessons in so the three of them had spent quite a bit of time together in the library. Harry had spent most of that time trying to work out how to write with a quill and had already asked Aunt Petunia to send him a few fountain pens. Really, magic was all well and good but what reason was there that he had to write with a feather?

Neville seemed like he was having a bit of a tough time in Gryffindor, which didn't seem to shock any of them much. Harry imagined that being as quiet as Neville was in a house that loud would be difficult. Even with their sessions in the library though Neville hadn't really done enough for Harry to form an opinion on him. He still didn't speak very much, even if he was starting to speak more, and often when he did he would blush or look down straight afterwards. Harry felt a little sorry for him, and had been trying to engage Neville in as much conversation as he dared.

He had spoken a little to Ernie and Justin a little bit as well, but even though he quite liked both of them he didn't think they would be much more than acquaintances. The two of them had formed their own little group with Zacharias and one of the girls called Megan who neither Hannah nor Susan liked very much for some reason. Harry had absolutely no plans that involved socialising with Zacharias in any way, shape, or form, so he supposed that was the two of them out of the equation too.

And now they were being escorted to their last lesson of the week; double potions with the Slytherins. In every year past the Gryffindors and Slytherins had had Potions together, but this year Dumbledore had for some reason decided to change things around so that Hufflepuff had potions with the Slytherins and not the Ravenclaws. Harry was becoming more and more suspicious of Dumbledore as time went on, but the older students said that it was long overdue. Putting Slytherins and Gryffindors in a room with volatile ingredients was, as he heard one sixth year say, the worst idea known to mankind.

"_Not everything is about you," _he reminded himself.

Their prefect guide led them straight into the potions lab where the Slytherins had already crowded down the left hand side and then quickly left with a gesture towards the empty seats. The dungeons were creepy enough, Harry thought as he took his seat near the back, even without the softly glowing jars of who knows what that were covering the walls of the classroom or the bat like creature that was stood stiffly at the front.

He had been told that Snape was a thoroughly unpleasant man and an even worse teacher, but even within the first few minutes Harry had decided that they had been being kind. Snape seemed to absolutely detest children, but by all indications he especially loathed him.

"Ah yes, Harry Potter. Our newest – _celebrity_." He said.

Malfoy and his pet trolls sniggered but no one else dared make a noise as he embarked on a near whispered speech. Snape had a similar way about him to McGonagall that said he would take no nonsense, but his was much… crueler, less about safety and more because he just wanted to punish the offenders.

"Potter!" he said suddenly, "what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Not a single person in the room looked like they had the slightest clue as Harry's eyes wandered before they locked back on Snape's glittering black ones.

"I don't know, sir."

"Tut tut, clearly fame isn't everything." Snape sneered, "Let's try another one, shall we? Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"The stomach of a goat, sir. It counteracts most poisons."

If anything Snape's sneer actually deepened at hearing the correct answer. The man clearly had something personal against him.

"Congratulations Potter, you have managed to at least open your textbook. I do hope you'll forgive me if I don't roll out the red carpet." He drawled and seemed to smirk slightly as Malfoy and his goons started straining with silent laughter.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"I don't know, sir."

"If you thought could come swanning into my class and expect your fame to cover up for your lack of intelligence then you are mistaken, Potter. For your information, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, also known as aconite. Well? Why aren't any of you copying this down?"

There was a sudden scrambling for quills and parchment as Snape flicked his wand at the board and set them to work brewing a simple potion that would cure boils. That part, at least, didn't go too badly. Snape would tell everyone to look at how Malfoy had cut his slugs or some other such task and then stalk around the room with his cloak billowing behind him, seeming to take great pleasure in intimidating some of the more soft-spoken Hufflepuffs. One of the girls, Eleanor he thought her name was, looked like she was about to have a heart attack every time Snape appeared behind her. Harry ended up working with Justin, and Snape seemed desperate to find something wrong with their potion judging by the way he would constantly peer into their cauldron. When he couldn't find anything he would sneer at them and storm off to try and pick apart someone else's work.

The atmosphere in the room was oppressive and completely silent but for the softly bubbling cauldrons and the occasional whisper between partners. It was by far the longest lesson Harry had ever been in, beyond even English with Mrs Brady. When finally they were allowed to leave the Hufflepuffs packed their things as fast as they possibly could and hurried from the room.

"I can't believe he singled you out like that!" Hannah said angrily as they made their way out of the dungeons.

"Auntie said he was a piece of work," Susan nodded, "but she didn't say how bad he was. And why does he have such a problem with you? You've never even met him before!"

Harry shrugged but couldn't help the small smile on his face. The fact that they were getting so riled up on his behalf gave him a warm feeling in his chest. They really were rather good friends.

The flying lesson the next day was fantastic and he found it greatly amusing when Zacharias crashed after barely ten seconds, despite telling anyone who would listen that he was a fantastic flyer and Hufflepuff's next chaser. The actual flying though, while exhilarating and much like a muggle rollercoaster, was a bit more tricky. He wasn't a bad flier by any means, but he certainly wasn't quidditch team material. Harry was a bit disappointed by that; ever since he had been told his father had been one of Gryffindor's best ever chasers he had wanted to follow in his footsteps.

**~Scene Change~**

A few weeks later Harry was sat at breakfast while he waited for his friends to arrive. It had taken a while but he was finally used to his new routine of classes, homework and spending free time in the common room or in the library. He had stopped trying to stay ahead in class now and instead opted to do whatever his friends wanted to do. He still learnt the occasional spell if he thought it would be cool or useful though; he had learnt the sticking charm just so he could stick Neville to his seat at dinner.

He, Susan, Hannah and Neville had formed their own little group now and Neville could often be found at the Hufflepuff table during meal times, despite Snape's claims it was against the rules. It didn't affect Snape at all, so Harry put the man's ardent opposition down to his still unexplained hatred for him. He and Neville had started sitting next to each other in the lessons they shared as well, at first simply because for Neville it was a choice between Harry and Ron Weasley and later because they both got on very well even without the girls around to take a bit of the pressure to maintain a conversation off of them.

Before last week Harry didn't think Neville would have had the nerve to sit on the other side of the subconscious house divide that split the room in half in almost every class, but ever since he had got a new wand his confidence had improved leaps and bounds. He had crashed in his flying lesson and snapped his wand in half, and then promptly burst into tears to the jeers of the Slytherin first years. Many of the younger years had laughed at him when they found out while the older years were much more understanding about what a wand truly meant, with the exception of many of the Slytherin students of course. Weasley had apparently been particularly mean spirited, probably because Neville had been the only one he could outperform magically. It was a shame that they hadn't been taught any curses yet, otherwise Harry would have considered using one.

Harry couldn't really blame Neville for being so upset, especially considering it was his father's wand and the scathing letter he had received from his grandmother. The new one at least seemed a much better fit for Neville and he could now do most of the spells they were learning, instead of just fruitlessly waving his wand only for nothing to happen.

It did make Harry a little nervous though, that because his wand hadn't been specifically matched to him he might be accidentally handicapping himself. But the reaction Neville had described to holding his new wand for the first time hadn't been as violent or as powerful as Harry's had been in his vault, so he took that to mean that, no matter how unlikely it was, his grandfather's wand was a perfect match. He wasn't having any trouble, anyway, so he figured it was fine. Or at least he hoped it was.

"You hear about Ron?" Neville asked as he dropped into the seat opposite him.

"Nope. How good? Better than when he got the softening charm so wrong a desk melted and even Flitwick couldn't fix it?" Harry asked between mouthfuls.

The grin Neville gave him could only be described as gleeful.

"Oh," he said, "so, so much better. Snape asked him a question in potions, you know, like he does to everyone who isn't a Slytherin. Well this one wasn't even difficult and Ron still couldn't answer it, but instead of saying that he didn't know he asked Snape why he was asking him, and that it wasn't his job to know about 'stupid potions'."

Harry managed to stop himself laughing out loud, just, but one look over at Weasley broke that resolve. He looked like he hadn't even gone to bed, with dark circles under his eyes, hair that stuck up on end and hands that looked like they had been rubbed with sandpaper.

"Snape's given him detention every night this week, and this was only the first night! I was asleep by the time he got back, but according to Dean he's been whining and calling Snape a sadist ever since he got got back to the dorm."

"He might actually be right about that bit." Susan pointed out as she sat down next to Harry and Hannah next to Neville.

"We talking about Weasley?" Hannah said as she reached for some toast, "Lisa mentioned it when we saw her in the corridor. She said it was the funniest thing she had seen since she got here, and that it serves the git right."

"I'm not sure that anyone deserves Snape."

"If anyone does though, it's Weasley." Susan said, "The boy is loud, rude and jealous of everyone and everything. I would say that Malfoy does too, but Snape fawns over him so much that its almost sickening."

"Predatory more like. Maybe Snape's one of _those._" Harry piped in, and was met with three equal looks of revulsion.

"If you could fawn over anyone though, why would it be that silver haired tosser." Neville muttered under his breath, a little louder than he thought he did judging by the scattered chuckles from the people around them.

Harry turned around to meet the burning glare that he had felt on his back and flashed Malfoy a grin before he turned back to his friends. The glare on his back got even hotter and Harry's grin deepened, to the exasperated smiles of his friends.

Poking the bear so to speak, although a very small and sickly one, had become one of Harry's favourite past times. Malfoy had decided that he was the main man of first year, and his first order of business had been to make sure no one thought the Boy-Who-Lived was better than him. That plan hadn't gone particularly well, and Harry hadn't even tried. Malfoy had even challenged him to a duel at one point.

"Come on," Susan said as other students started to troop out of the hall, "history of magic."

The three of them groaned, and Harry grabbed a few extra pieces of toast before he followed them out. If he was going to be bored he was going to make sure he wasn't hungry as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Halloween rolled around much quicker than he thought it would, and both Harry and Neville had been in miserable moods all day. For everyone else in the Wizarding World today was a day of celebration, the anniversary of You-Know-Who's defeat and the day The-Boy-Who-Lived saved them all. For Harry, it was the day his parents died. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that.

For Neville, it wasn't so much that it was today as it was the fact it was nearly tomorrow. The day after You-Know-Who's defeat several of his most fanatic followers had attacked Neville's parents and tortured them into insanity, and ever since then they had been more or less brain-dead. They didn't recognise Neville when he visited and rarely even realised he was there. If anything, and no matter how awful it made him feel to even think, it made Harry thankful that his parents had died instead of suffering such a fate.

The day had dragged by more than almost any other had in his life. He had known that his parents had died on Halloween since he was old enough to understand the concept so it had always been a bad day for him, but this was the first time he was having to watch that fact be celebrated. He had begged Professor Sprout to let him miss the feast as much as his pride would let him, but she had told him that as much as she understands his position the feast was mandatory. He couldn't get out of it.

So here he was, sat picking morosely at his food while others laughed and joked and smiled. It was strange to him that they were openly celebrating something the Boy-Who-Lived did, yet most of them never even looked at Harry Potter. Both Susan and Hannah were sat quietly opposite him, whether out of some sort of sympathy or just because they didn't want to celebrate, he didn't know. Either way he appreciated it.

Neville had been made to sit with the Gryffindors, and Harry could see him doing much the same he was. They shared a few seconds of eye contact across the Great Hall and then went right back to staring down at their plates. Granger was also curiously missing from the Gryffindor table, which frankly pissed Harry off a little. Why was it that he had to come and watch everyone make merry about his parents dying, but she got to miss it because Weasley said some nasty things about her? That git said nasty things about everyone for Christ's sake!

Harry privately put it down to her thinking she was so special, or at least that was how he perceived it. She still seemed to be convinced that she was better than he was, even when he performed the spells before her almost every time. Once, she had even accosted him in the hallway to say that it was unfair because he was trained before he came to Hogwarts, only to then storm off when he told her he grew up with his muggle aunt. He wasn't yet two months into his time at Hogwarts and yet it seemed he already had enemies, if you could call them that, in both Gryffindor and Slytherin. He just needed to make a Ravenclaw hate him and he'd have the full set.

Suddenly, the great oaken doors of the hall burst open and Professor Quirrell sprinted inside and slumped breathlessly against the professors table.

"Troll, in the dungeon," he panted weakly, "thought you ought to know."

Then he fainted.

Chaos erupted around the Great Hall and it took several blasts from Professor Dumbledore's wand to calm the clamouring voices.

"Prefects, lead your houses to their dormitories."

Such was the command in his voice that every prefect in the room immediately moved to do so, and it was only after a few seconds that Hufflepuff and Slytherin students started protesting.

"Our dormitories are in the damn dungeons!" One Slytherin student shouted.

Dumbledore's step stuttered as he strode towards the doors with the rest of the professors in tow, and after a few seconds he commanded everyone to stay where they were and told several of the teachers to stay behind to make sure they were safe. Harry didn't recognise most of them – presumably they taught subjects he wasn't old enough to learn yet – but he did recognise Quirrell, who had woken up just in time to be told to remain in the Great Hall. He had looked none too happy about it for split second before the scared, stuttering facade dropped back into place so fast that Harry almost thought he imagined it.

The professors filed out and the doors slammed closed behind them and locked with a mechanical grinding, and then they waited. The teachers wandered around, for what purpose Harry wasn't entirely sure. The troll was out there, not in here. Quirrell stayed stood in a corner with the familiar pathetic expression on his face, but his body was taut with fear and, strangely, anger. What did he have to be angry about? Or scared of for that matter? The troll was on the other side of locked doors with some of the most highly skilled witches and wizards in the country, and he was sat in a room with children and golden plates filled with pudding.

It was only when the professors finally returned after what felt like an hour that the oppressive quiet was finally broken, and by the time they were told the troll was dealt with and sent to their dormitories Harry could hardly think over the sound of hundreds of clamouring students giving absurd theories about how the troll got in; one girl said they thought that it came in through a secret tunnel Salazar Slytherin had made so he could sneak out to murder muggles, and someone else said that Hagrid had been keeping it as a pet in the Forbidden Forest.

From what he had heard about the gamekeeper it was certainly a possibility, but the most believable one he had heard was that Snape had let it in so he could go to the third floor corridor and steal whatever was behind the huge three headed dog. The idea of a three headed dog existing and being kept in a school of all places was stupid, but then that seemed to be a theme of the magical world so far. And he heard it off a Gryffindor student, so Harry was more than willing to take his word for it.

They never did find out what happened to the troll or how it got in, and by the time Harry found himself making his way towards the carriages to go home for the Christmas holidays he was long past bored of all the stupid theories. Really, how was a troll meant to ride a broomstick?

Other than the rumours life at Hogwarts had carried on entirely as it had before the troll, which Harry found rather confusing. He would expect some sort of reaction to a dangerous beast getting into the school – parents withdrawing their children maybe, or at least some sort of defence against it happening again. He saw no evidence of either. In fact, judging by the letters he had received from his aunt since then she hadn't even been told it had happened. Harry chose not to mention it.

There was one bright side to the troll, even if Harry was a bit ashamed of himself for considering it that. Granger had encountered the troll in the girls bathroom of all places, and the troll had shattered one of her legs and knocked her through a wall before the professors had arrived and managed to subdue it. Granger had been in the hospital for a week after that, apparently having to undergo multiple rounds of potions to regrew bones and fix other trauma from being knocked around like a playtoy. She was fine now though, which Harry used to justify the blissful relief he had felt in the days after when he could look up in class and not receive some sort of challenging look from the bloody girl. Even after she had returned to class she hadn't been quite as irritating, a fact that Harry sincerely hoped would continue. If it did he might have to thank whoever let the troll in.

Susan, Hannah, and Neville had all been quite vocal with their disapproval when he had said that, even if they acknowledged that Hermione Granger was insufferable at times. He would miss them over the holidays though, despite the way they would roll their eyes at him or tell him off sometimes. But that didn't mean he wasn't looking forward to going home. He had been writing to Dudley and to Aunt Petunia of course, but he had still missed them even more than he had expected to.

The train journey back to London was much livelier than the journey to Hogwarts had been, with good natured bickering and joking all the way. Most of the time two of them would be playing chess while the other two gave them unhelpful tips or chatted with the pieces in an attempt to put them off. Susan had suggested gobstones, but the other three had quickly put an end to that possibility. Harry had discovered that Susan was a expert gobstones player, but only after he had lost fifteen galleons to her. Chess on the other hand, well they were all terrible at that.

Finally the train rolled into Kings Cross and Harry again promised Susan, Neville and Hannah that he would write before he made his way towards the barrier to the muggle side of the station. He overheard several muggleborn students lamenting the fact they would be unable to practise magic over the holidays and hid a smile; he couldn't wait to show Dudley some of the spells he'd learnt. He hadn't learnt that many, but he was sure that Dudley would think any and all magic was brilliant.

The wizened old wizard at the barrier ushered him through the barrier and he quickly saw Aunt Petunia waiting for him patiently with Dudley stood fidgeting next to her. Carefully he picked his way between the countless muggles that were dashing between trains towards them until Dudley saw him and excitedly waved his arm above his head.

"Alright Dud?" Harry said as he was pulled into a hug.

"Yup," Dudley replied with a grin, "how's magic school?"

Harry struggled not to laugh at the way Dudley's faced pulled in on itself when Aunt Petunia hissed at him to be quiet.

"You've got everything?" she asked.

He nodded and pointed to the muggle rucksack that was flung over his shoulder, filled with some of his books and his homework for the holidays. He didn't see the point in bringing his uniforms and his cauldron and his parchment and quills, so he had left his trunk at Hogwarts and only brought what he needed. The majority of his normal clothes were at home anyway, and he was sure that his teachers wouldn't mind that his homework was done with paper and pen rather than parchment and quill.

Snape would, of course, but he was frankly looking forwards to that reaction. He was sure that eventually Snape would do or say something to give him an excuse to stop going to potions altogether anyway.

Harry smiled widely as Aunt Petunia patted him on the shoulder and led the way towards the car park with Dudley following closely behind.

"You've not brought any of that rubbish have you?" she asked once they reached the car, "If I catch even a whiff of one of those stink bombs the two of you were staring at then you will regret it."

"Of course not." he said with the most innocent smile he could muster.

Aunt Petunia eyed him suspiciously in her rear view mirror for a few seconds before she flicked the key in the ignition and the car purred to life. Harry could practically feel the hope rolling off Dudley.

When they got home Harry was greeted with the familiar smell of Aunt Petunia's cooking, and he and Dudley quickly set about laying the table just as they had done hundreds of times before. Dinner passed with Dudley proudly telling Harry about some of his exploits that he hadn't included in his letters while Aunt Petunia listened in silent disapproval. Harry wondered how much of it she had already heard.

Once dinner was over Harry flopped onto the sofa to try and catch up on some of the TV he had missed, but by the way Dudley was vibrating he wasn't going to get a chance tonight. As soon as they reached his room Dudley was asking to see the magic he had learnt, and so Harry spent the next hour or so going through all the spells he knew. They were all quite simple, but he assured Dudley that it wouldn't be long until he would be able to do some "really complex shit".

"I brought you something." Harry said as he reached into a hidden and enlarged compartment of his bag and starting pulling out dungbombs.

"I think six should be enough until summer, don't you think?" he said with a grin.

As he suspected given their reputation, the Weasley twins had been more than happy to buy him some when they visited Hogsmeade and had commended him when he told them he planned to set them off in his cousin's room and Snape's office if he got even half a chance. It had been their idea to create the hidden compartment in his bag.

"Can we set them off in Shaun White's house?"

Harry's lips curved into a frown at the mention of the boy's name, and his frown only deepened as Dudley continued to talk. Shaun was a typical entitled child with parents that were frankly far too soft who had had a problem with the two of them and their group of friends for years, and Harry honestly couldn't remember why. Maybe it was something childish that they had all since forgotten but continued their feud regardless, or maybe there was no reason at all. Shaun had never really done much beyond irritating them, but from what Dudley said he had upped things since Harry left. Maybe he had been intimidated because of what he had done with the mud and the snakes when they first moved in.

Either way, this, in Harry's opinion, called for revenge of some sort, and a few dungbombs didn't really cut it. He considered doing the same thing he had before, but it had taken him ages to find enough snakes and he was only home for a couple of weeks. He would rather not spend his Christmas snake hunting.

"Save the dungbombs for when I'm back at school. While I'm here, we might as well make use of some of those spells. After that you can just hide them in his bag or throw it through his window or something."

Luckily for them Shaun had been bragging to anyone who would listen that he was spending Christmas in Switzerland. So, the next day Harry and Dudley waited for to Aunt Petunia to leave for work and then made their way into Shaun White's back garden as stealthily as possible. Harry really wished he had an invisibility cloak or something.

The patio door clicked open with a whispered alohomora and they let themselves inside and quietly climbed the stairs. Harry was half tempted to use the levitation charm to just fling things around and trash the place, but that was a bit extreme even for him. And it just wasn't as good as what he had come up with.

First, they poorly hid some empty vodka bottles they had taken from the local bottle bank under his bed. Boy wonder wouldn't clean his own room, oh no no no, his mum would do that, and Harry could only imagine the reaction when she found out her eleven year old was already a drinker. Then, they hid some frankly traumatising magazines they had found behind the local shop around his room and throughout the rest of the house. When his parents found _those_ they would think he was a filthy pervert as well. Any of his denials would be ignored because, well, of course he would deny it.

Their work done and the images blinked away from their eyes, Harry and Dudley snuck back out the back door, locked it behind them and made their way back home. Harry thought it a well deserved punishment.

The next few days passed by quickly and Harry hardly even thought about magic until he woke up on Christmas morning to find a trio of owls perched on their kitchen table and the window somehow open. It took a few slices of ham from the fridge to persuade them to part with their packages but eventually they flew back out the window, bickering between them.

Dudley had been watching the whole thing with his jaw flapping in the breeze, but the moment Harry pulled the window closed he seemed to remember what day it was and dashed down the hallway to the front room.

Aunt Petunia was sat on the sofa with a cup of tea in hand and glaring through the wall towards the kitchen, and Harry amused himself by imagining her making her tea with three owls screeching behind her. He leapt over the arm of the chair and ignored the expected telling off from his Aunt while Dudley plopped down next to the tree just like he did every year and started sliding each gift to its recipient as fast as he possibly could.

Annoyingly, Harry had had to owl order his presents because he wasn't allowed into Hogsmeade. For Aunt Petunia he had bought a glass orb that seemed to have a shrunken galaxy in it – it was magical but not obnoxiously so, so that if someone saw it they would still think its just a nice non magical thing, and frankly non magical things seemed rather boring now – and for Dudley he had got a magical chess set. He held no illusions that Dudley would actually play chess, but he would certainly have fun arguing with the pieces. Who knows, maybe that would convince him to actually play it. If they were lucky he might learn to think ahead a little.

Hannah had sent him a wand polishing kit and it took Harry some effort to ignore the very obvious innuendo; from Neville he got a book on charms, and Susan had sent him a large and very complicated looking book about runes. He knew he was quite good at runes and was already over half way through the beginners runes book he had, but this was pushing it a bit. From a quick skim over the first page it might as well have been written in German.

His muggle friends had given him a new football, the final card he was missing from last years match attax collection and a blow dart set with a note to give the posh private school kids hell when he went back. He was already planning on charming the darts somehow, or more accurately getting someone else to do it. Maybe the Weasley twins would be open to the suggestion.

There was a final golden wrapped present left, only he couldn't think of anyone else who would send him one. Maybe Justin, but hopefully not. He hadn't got him anything so that would be a bit awkward.

When he unwrapped it a silvery grey fluid seemed to trickle between his fingers and onto his lap, and then his legs weren't there anymore.

"Fucking hell." he whispered, and not even Aunt Petunia bothered to try and correct him.

An invisibility cloak. Delicately he ran the tips of his fingers across its surface in awe before he started giggling to himself. This was going to be so much fun. Dudley moved faster than Harry had ever seen him across the room while Aunt Petunia hurriedly pulled the curtains closed and came over as well.

"There's a note," she said, pointing to the yellowy parchment that was sticking out from beneath the pool of glimmering folds at his feet.

_Your father left this in my possession before he died.  
It is time it was returned to you.  
Use it well.  
A very merry Christmas to you._

Use it well? Harry sincerely doubted he would be doing that, but he wisely kept that thought to himself considering Aunt Petunia was stood right next to him. He wondered who it was from. The strange loopy handwriting was unfamiliar to him, but then that wasn't a surprise. From what he had heard his father was quite popular; maybe it was just one of his friends.

The rest of Christmas day went by just like it would in any other normal household with turkey and crackers and TV movies, only instead of a large and annoying extended family it was just the three of them. There wasn't really much use in his new invisibility cloak when he was at home, but by the time he boarded the train to go back to school he was buzzing at the prospect of exploring the castle at night with no way of being caught by Filch.

After a few minutes of walking through the carriages he found his friends and slipped inside the compartment. He greeted Susan, Hannah and Neville happily, and by the time they had finished the standard 'how was your holidays?' exchange Neville looked ready to burst.

"Oh, sorry Neville, did you have something you wanted to say?" Harry said sarcastically.

Neville gave him a rather rude gesture in reply, and once they had finished laughing at him he finally got his chance to speak.

"I know you want to more about your parents, so I asked my gran about them over the holidays; I figured as my parents were only a couple of years older she might know something. She didn't – sorry – but she did know plenty about your grandparents. I can tell you now or I can tell you in private if you want?"

"Now's fine," Harry said eagerly.

"Alright, well, your grandfather was a Gryffindor the year above my gran. Really good at pretty much everything except potions and runes, and even though they didn't really interact Gran said he was really nice. The unofficial leader of Gryffindor, she called him. The younger kids would go to him instead of their head of house, and he would handle it. A bit of a badass by the sounds of it as well. You know the ICW right? Well during the Grindelwald war they were a lot more active than they were for You-Know-Who, because it was technically a civil war that didn't affect anyone else much. Grindelwald though, well he terrorised the whole of Europe.

"Anyway, your grandfather was part of the ICW forces that fought against Grindelwald on the mainland, and quite high up apparently. My grandad fought there as well, and Gran said that he called your grandfather an absolute demon. They say he duelled with Grindelwald once and nearly won, but that might be exaggerated. Grindelwald was a monster. But Gran did say she thought it might have been possible. Charlus was terrifying when he got angry and absolutely ruthless; Gran said he almost got expelled from Hogwarts for putting another student in St Mungos after they attacked your grandmother.

"Your grandmother was Dorea Black," he continued to gasps from Susan and Hannah, "a Slytherin in the same year as your grandfather. Gran didn't know much about her – Gryffindors and Slytherins weren't friendly even back then, and they definitely wouldn't talk to people younger than them on top of that. Your grandparents getting together was the most controversial thing that happened in Gran's entire time at Hogwarts."

Harry's left hand had drifted across to grasp his right forearm as Neville spoke, and he was almost sure that he could feel his grandfather's wand gently thrumming in its holster.

"What's so surprising about my grandmother?"

"The Blacks are the oldest and probably the most powerful family in Magical Britain, or at least they were back then," Susan said in full lecture mode, "They were known blood purists as well, and the Potters may have been a technically pureblood family but they've married plenty of halfbloods in the past and also advocated for muggle and muggleborn rights. I seriously doubt that the Head of the Black family at the time would have approved of the match, so it really says something about your grandmother that she did it anyway."

"And about your grandfather that she got to keep her name." Hannah said. "In a lot of cases if the head of that sort of family doesn't approve of the marriage and they get married anyway then they get disowned so that the family isn't shamed."

"Why haven't I heard about any of this? I couldn't find any mention of my grandfather anywhere."

"Because we're in Britain." Neville said before he continued at the trio of confused faces.

"All the books here say about the defeat of Grindelwald is that it was all Dumbledore, when in reality it was the ICW forces and the forces of other countries that did most of it. It was a full war, not just one man. All Dumbledore did was duel Grindelwald when he was fresh and Grindelwald was probably not much more than half strength at the end of an attack."

"How do you know that?" Hannah asked.

"You pick up a lot of anti Dumbledore things in my house; Gran can't stand him. She says there's something about him that she just doesn't trust, and given how you said that you ended up with your aunt by getting left on her doorstep," Neville said with a nod towards Harry, "I'd say she's right."

**~Scene Change~**

A few days later Harry finally got his chance to go exploring under his invisibility cloak. He hadn't realised just how huge Hogwarts really was until he was creeping around it in the middle of the night; he must have only seen a fraction of it. There were entire wings of the castle that had nothing in but disused classrooms, some of which that looked like they had been taught in barely an hour ago and one that was entirely empty but for, strangely, a mirror.

It was huge and ornately rimmed in gold, with clawed feet and a seemingly random collection of letters etched into the frame. He looked into it, admiring his invisibility, and then he saw something in the mirror move. He whirled around so quickly his cloak slipped off his shoulders and fell to the floor next to him, but there was no one else in the room.

His heart pounding in his throat, he turned back to the mirror and saw a group of figures walking up behind him, appearing much too far away to be in the room with him. He snatched a look over his shoulder anyway and saw nothing, but when he turned back to the mirror the figures were still coming ever closer.

What sort of twisted magic was this? Were the figures going to grab him and pull him into the mirror, another hostage to add to their little family? He tried to move away, but for some reason his legs refused to move.

It was only as they got closer that the figures changed from black silhouettes to people, as if stepping out of shadows.

"Mum? Dad?"

They looked just like he remembered them. Young and alive, his mother with the same green eyes and his father with the same messy black hair that he had. They were smiling at him with tears in their eyes, and then two more figures stepped out of the blackness behind them. Aunt Petunia walked out and stood next to his mother, appearing like the closest of sisters, and Dudley stood smiling next to his father, a wand grasped in his hand.

What Harry had previously been scared of suddenly became something he desperately, desperately wanted. He wanted nothing more than for them to hold him by the shoulders and pull him gently into the mirror, where he could live with his family forever.

He tried talking to them at first, but there was no response. They couldn't hear him. That was okay though, it gave him more time to stare. His eyes roved over their reflections, memorising every pore and every freckle and every minute detail of their cloaks and their shirts and their posture.

It was only the morning sun crawling across the stone floor that woke him from his trance, and it took everything he had to drag his eyes from his mother's face.

"I'll be back," he promised.

Classes that day passed in a blur, and by the end of it he wasn't sure he remembered anything that had happened. He went back to the abandoned classroom that night, and the night after, and the night after that. On his fourth trip, though, the mirror was gone, and no matter how hard he looked he couldn't find it again.

Weeks rolled by and Harry failed to find the mirror again despite countless nights spent searching for it. His friends noticed that he looked tired, but he just said he hadn't been sleeping well and that he was fine. He didn't tell any of them about the mirror or about what he saw in it; that was something personal, and he knew that they would probably tell him off for repeatedly using a magical object when he had no idea what it actually did.

His teachers became more and more impressed him with his work as he became more and more attuned to the feeling of casting spells, except for Snape of course. That wasn't to say he was particularly awful at potions, it was more that he put in as little effort as he possibly could. He didn't see the point, frankly, when even when he brewed the potion perfectly Snape would barely give him a passing grade and all his essays were marked Poor, regardless of how well written they were.

There had been a time when only Professor Sprout's threat to take away his wand had been able to convince him to even attend potions lessons. Snape had called him a useless excuse of a wizard, which hadn't particularly bothered Harry. He had long since gotten used to Snape's insults. What had bothered him though, was that Snape had said his father was useless too.

James Potter had been one of the greatest chasers to grace the halls of Hogwarts; he had the second highest transfiguration NEWT score ever recorded in Britain, only after Dumbledore himself! He had fought in a war, and the only person who had been able to beat him was Voldemort! His dad was _not _useless.

Normally he was able to keep his cool under Snape's glare, but this time he hadn't even bothered trying to keep himself quiet.

"That's rich coming from the man who bullies schoolchildren." he had replied before he grabbed his things and stormed out.

As expected, Snape had been none too happy, not that Harry cared. He was still far too angry. Detention notes had been ignored and he had refused to attend potions lessons at all. The professors had tried to first persuade him with extra assignments, which hadn't worked. He had just done them; he had learnt spells that could be used to speed up the monotonous tasks, and he really didn't mind doing the interesting ones. It had taken two weeks for them to resort to threats to take his wand when he wasn't in lesson, and so he had returned to potions with a scowl and a new most hated person.

Susan and Neville had both been sympathetic, even if they didn't exactly approve of his actions. Being orphans themselves they had understood why he was so angry, especially given how much Harry in particular idolised his parents. Hannah had said he should have just ignored it and not "sunken to his level". All three of them had been angry that Snape had picked on him to begin with though, just as they were every time they left the potions classroom.

Unfortunately, he had now exposed his weak spot, and both Snape and Malfoy had since delighted in poking it. The two of them made a rather good team; Malfoy would always make comments about his mother, mainly about her blood status but he was getting more infuriated by Harry's lack of response. He didn't care that his mother was a muggleborn, but he thought it would only be a matter of time until Malfoy resorted to throwing vulgar obscenities to try and get a reaction. Harry had already learnt a few spells in preparation. Snape had never once spoke about his mother, and instead only insulted his father. The depth of Snape's apparent hatred for James Potter was strange, and Harry was willing to bet there was something personal going on there.

Ever since then Dumbledore had been giving him profoundly disappointed looks at dinner, but he really couldn't care less what the headmaster thought of him. If anything it was better than the assessing, calculative or sometimes strangely pleased looks he had occasionally caught Dumbledore giving him at meal times. It was as if he was weighing his worth, but also as if he was proud for some reason. Harry wasn't sure why Dumbledore would be proud; maybe he was just happy he had survived being left on the doorstop of an angry man who hated magic in the middle of winter.

Other than that magic school had actually become rather ordinary, which was a sentence that Harry hadn't thought would ever enter his head. Learning magic spells was still exciting – he was still eleven years old after all – but most of the spells they were learning all seemed a bit pointless. Why did they need to know a spell that makes inanimate objects dance? How was that ever going to be in any way useful?

And it was only made worse by the fact that most of his classmates seemed to take an absolute age to successfully cast the spell, all the while complaining that they were _sure _that they were getting the incantation and wand movements right. Hannah, Susan and Neville were all guilty of that to some degree as well, no matter how many times he told them he always got it easier if he concentrated on what the spell was supposed to do instead of the incantation or the wand movements.

They had just left defence class and he was trying for what felt like the thousandth time to try and explain his theory to them, but no matter how hard he tried and how many times he successfully cast spells incorrectly they were failing to wrap their heads around the concept; he supposed it must be an effect of seeing spells cast with the wand movements and hearing the incantations as they grew up, but that didn't make it any less irritating. He was seriously considering repeatedly banging his head against the wall until either the wall cracked or his head did.

"You really shouldn't lie to people like that," a high pitched voice spoke from behind them, "you'll hinder their education. All our books and all our professors say that the wand movements and incantations are terribly important, but you wouldn't know that considering you never listen to them."

With great effort Harry stopped himself from throwing his head back and screaming to the heavens. This wasn't the first time Hermione Granger had told him that he was doing it wrong, despite the fact that what he was doing quite clearly worked. She was intelligent, that he was willing to admit, but she spoke as if she thought that she, a muggleborn first year, was the authority on how to cast spells.

Susan, Hannah and Neville cringed as soon as they heard her voice; most times Harry and Hermione interacted didn't end particularly well. Normally there was a very loud argument that spent the next two days circulating through the Hogwarts rumour mill until the story was near unrecognisable. Once the story had mutated until it said that Harry had cursed Hermione because she said she was a better witch than Lily Potter. Unsurprisingly people had believed it, but those who knew him thought that if she had said such a thing he would have done far worse than just cursed her.

"And why do you think that I don't listen?" he asked as he turned around, irritation easily heard in his voice.

"Because I just saw you! You weren't even looking at Professor Quirrell while he explained the knockback jinx, you were sat there doodling on your parchment! It is disrespectful and foolish not to listen to your professors while they're trying to teach you."

"Actually, I was doing my charms assignment. Doodling would have been a waste of time, just like listening would have been. I wasn't listening because I can already cast the knockback jinx."

Quite a crowd had gathered by then, and Susan was discreetly trying to pull Harry away.

"That's a lie," Granger insisted, "not even I can cast it yet and I was actually listening to Professor Quirrell explain it."

Harry looked towards his friends who were rapidly shaking their heads, knowing exactly what was going through his head. Harry gave a half shrug at them and then flicked his wand into his palm and pointed it at Granger.

"Flipendo." he said without bothering to move his wand in the correct V shaped motion.

A blue bolt sped out of his wand and hit Granger square in the chest, sending her flying backwards. The books that she had been clutching were now strewn across the corridor and the onlookers were staring between her and Harry, who looked rather proud of himself as he turned around and walked off down the corridor. His friends darted after him after a few seconds of stupor, and then disappeared as they yanked him into an unused classroom.

"What the hell was _that_?" Susan hissed once she had kicked the door closed.

"She called me a liar; I just proved her wrong is all."

Susan looked ready to hit him, and Hannah was still staring at him in shock. Even Neville had his arms crossed as he looked at him with a frown.

"Look, she's been doing this for months and no matter how many times I'm peaceful and polite, ish," he added as all three of his friends raised their eyebrows, "she just kept on doing it. Even when I've lost my temper a little bit she carried on pestering me. At some point I was gong to have to be a bit more… forceful. I'm not saying I enjoyed it-"

"Liar."

"-but hopefully after this she won't bother me again. One knockback jinx is better than this going on for the next six and a half years."

Susan's lips remained pressed in a tight line and Hannah's eyebrows had raised even higher.

"Look, I kind of see where you're coming from," Neville said as he raised his hands towards the girls' protests, "especially as we're only first years. Better to get it out the way now before we get older and it could turn into a full on duel, but did you really have to put so much power into it? You could have just made her step back a little to show her what you needed to, but you sent her flying ten feet down the corridor."

"She's been antagonising me for months, and I've not once gone up to her and acted all superior. I didn't do anything to her except learn magic quicker, and maybe a few comments here and there, but she had already started it when I said those. As far as I'm concerned that was letting her off. It was fair and well deserved."

His friends could tell from his raised chin that it would be pointless to try and convince him that maybe, just maybe he might have gone too far. Susan exhaled loudly in exasperation as she swung the door open and strode down the corridor as Hannah and Neville followed.

Harry shrugged to himself as he left the classroom a few steps behind; Susan and Hannah clearly weren't happy with him, but he didn't see the problem. Granger deserved it, and they couldn't say he hadn't tried just telling her to leave him alone. He had, multiple times, and it hadn't worked. Detention was a near certainty once the professors found out, if they hadn't already, but he thought it would be worth it. It would be worth it just to wipe the smug smile off her face. Maybe he'd even get lucky and Malfoy would decide to stop insulting his mother once he heard, as unlikely as that was. Events had shown that Malfoy's ability to think for himself was stunted at best.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

As he had expected, he got detention. A weeks worth of potting and repotting spiky plants with foul smelling secretions had nearly made him regret cursing Granger, but not quite. She had been remarkably quiet both in class and outside it ever since, even if she would send him glares that bordered on hateful. Not only had he made a bit of a show of force, he had also given her ego a firm kicking by not only casting a spell she had admitted she couldn't, but doing so in a way she said was wrong. For someone with a superiority complex as well developed as hers that was sure to be worse than actually being cursed.

Other than that, the weeks and months flew past quite monotonously in Harry's opinion. The only clubs at Hogwarts were for gobstones, quidditch, chocolate frog card collecting, and wizards chess, so other than classes all he really had to do was his homework and his own self study. He did of course spend time with his friends, but he wasn't a naturally outgoing person. Yes, he was sociable enough, but he couldn't be with other people every second of every day like everyone else in Hufflepuff seemed to be able to; if he did he would suddenly feel drained, as if his battery had ran out, and then he would want nothing more than to be by himself. The trouble was that there wasn't much he could do by himself apart from learn magic – he couldn't watch TV or play video games or even listen to music because there was nothing electronic in the whole of Hogwarts.

So that was what he ended up doing a lot of: self study. He wasn't sure what level he was, but he knew it was far beyond a first year, at least practically. The theory bored him in most subjects. Wanded theory wasn't important in his mind – as long as he could cast the spells properly he didn't see the point in knowing when and by who the spells had been invented – and potions and herbology required more of a natural aptitude than intense study. No number of books would teach him the little intricacies those subjects had, and it didn't help that he found no enjoyment in either.

The only exceptions to the rule were runes and arithmancy. They were mostly theory anyway, and the theory itself was fascinating. The hundreds of different ways even simple runes could interact together to give different effects when used in enchanting or rituals or wards, and all the different rules and laws that could be applied depending on the situation. The way a spell, ritual, ward, enchantment could be broken down into simpler and simpler numerical formulas until it was at its very simplest form, and from that new variations could be created or countercurses discovered. It was complex and intricate and endlessly confusing. Harry found it all rather beautiful.

He was starting to wish he could be trying to decipher runic complexes now as he looked around at the countless bits of parchment that were strewn across their usual table in the library. He and Susan were trying to explain some, in Harry's view, basic transfiguration to Hannah, but even after nearly an hour she was no closer to understanding it. He had managed to explain fractions to Dudley, and yet he clearly couldn't explain this well enough. Frankly, it hurt his pride a little. It was all too instinctive to him, he barely had to think about it. Putting it into words was a bit of a struggle at times.

They had been trying for almost an hour, but despite her failures she kept on trying. That was something he admired about Hannah; she wasn't the best in wanded subjects, but she tried hard and didn't complain about the effort. You couldn't say that about most eleven year olds, himself included.

Suddenly, Neville came barging into the library and skidded to a stop at their table, totally ignoring Madam Pince's glare.

"Dean, Seamus and Ron just got back from Hagrid's," he breathed.

"I think your dislike for Weasley is getting a bit obsessive mate, maybe cool it off a little before you get a restraining order."

"No, no, this is important." Neville insisted over their laughter, again ignoring Madam Pince's look to be quiet.

"Like I said they just got back from Hagrid's, and you know how big Ron's mouth is. They thought they were being quiet but I still overheard them talking; Hagrid got drunk and told a stranger in a bar that the three headed dog falls asleep if you play it music, and it's guarding something that belongs to Nicholas Flamel."

Apparently their reaction wasn't good enough for Neville, who just continued to stare at them without blinking.

"Nicholas Flamel?" he repeated as he leant forward in his chair, his forearms resting on the table, "the maker of the Philosopher's Stone? Uses alchemy to transform things into gold, can make the holder immortal and curse almost any disease?"

It was clear to all three of them why he would know of such an object, but all three chose not to mention it.

"And you think someone's going to steal it." Susan said.

Neville nodded.

"Agreed," Harry said, "Someone's going to try and use it to bring back You-Know-Who."

Susan, Hannah and Neville all had different reactions. Hannah paled, Neville's eyes darted around in their sockets, and Susan just looked sad. What was clear though, was that all three believed that Voldemort was dead.

"Oh come on, you don't really believe that he's dead do you? There was no body for God's sake! Bodies don't disappear just because you're magical – they found my parents' just fine!"

"You-Know-Who wasn't really a person then though was he. He did so much to his body that it might have burned up when he died. No one knows what happened that let you survive, that might have burned his body too." Susan said quietly.

Harry felt a stab of guilt at making Susan think about Voldemort; he knew that he had personally killed her family, but that guilt was buried under an ocean of bubbling rage at the thought of the man who killed his parents being free to walk the earth for what remained of eternity.

"He's dead, Harry." Hannah said softly.

"No he is not! I know he's not, I can feel it. There's something in the back of my head, whispering that he's still alive and I know, I just know that that voice is telling the truth. If he was dead I'd _feel _it somehow. Like a thread snapping, or, or a bridge breaking."

"Right, lets ignore how utterly crazy that sounds and say you're right," Neville said, "who at Hogwarts would want to bring him back, if that's even possible? Snape? One of the Slytherins?"

"Any of the Slytherins probably would," Hannah said, shuddering at the mere thought, "all of You-Know-Who's followers were Slytherins."

"If anyone at Hogwarts was in any way connected to You-Know-Who Auntie would have told me before I came to Hogwarts. She didn't, so no one is."

"Well someone will just sneak in then," Harry insisted, "someone broke into Gringotts earlier this year and that's supposed to be impenetrable. Maybe that was where the stone was before it was at Hogwarts, and if whoever wants it could break into Gringotts they'll have no trouble breaking into a _school_!"

"Well we can't do anything anyway," Susan interrupted firmly as Harry got more and more visibly angry, "we're just first years. We'll have to tell a professor and let them handle it."

"I've already tried that. I asked McGonagall to see Dumbledore but she said he's at the Ministry all day, so I just told her. I said that someone knew how to get past the three headed dog and was going to try and steal the stone. She basically told me to get lost – said that the professors have made it far too well protected to be stolen."

"More well protected than a high security vault in Gringotts?" Harry hissed.

While all his friends seemed to agree that the Philosophers Stone was vulnerable, none of them seemed to think that someone would steal it to bring a dead man back to life. When he put it like that Harry couldn't really blame them, but he was adamant. If all they wanted was gold they could have looted Gringotts vaults while they were there, but they hadn't. That meant what they wanted from the stone was the stone's power of immortality, and for some reason he just _knew_ that rather than anyone else it was Voldemort that wanted it.

He let a deep breath out through his mouth as he pushed his chair out and silently stalked out of the library. A few seconds later he heard chairs scraping behind him and then hurried footsteps as his friends caught him up.

"Please tell me you're not going to do what I think you're going to do."

"I'm going to steal it before anyone else can."

Susan looked like he had just confirmed her worst fears, Hannah looked shocked that he would do something so stupid and Neville looked up for it. Harry supposed he would be.

"Harry," Hannah tried, "you're a first year. A very good first year, but still a first year. You will not be able to get past all the protections that were put there to stop a full grown wizard."

"Watch me."

Intellectually, Harry knew it was stupid. The chances of him managing it were slim, and the fact they started things off with a huge three headed dog wasn't a great sign for things to come. He could get himself hurt or even killed. He could leave Aunt Petunia and Dudley, and he knew that both of them would be heartbroken. His friends would blame themselves for not stopping him.

Ultimately though, he didn't care. He didn't quite understand it, but he knew that he was willing to do absolutely anything to make sure the bastard who had killed his parents didn't come back.

Harry ignored their pleading for him to stop all the way up to the third floor corridor, and by the time they got there all three of them had lapsed into silence. He didn't even pause at the already ajar door that opened into the forbidden corridor. Someone was already ahead of him; the stone might already have been taken.

"Stay here. Try and get a professor; they'll probably be more likely to actually do something when you tell them I've gone down there."

And with that he turned and strode down the dimly lit corridor towards the single door at the end. He could hear a gentle melody floating under the door, and when he slowly pushed it open he half expected to be immediately bitten in half by a huge man eating dog.

Luckily, the dog was asleep. He could see it sprawled on its side, all three tongues drooping out of their respective mouths with a puddle of slobber slowly forming under its cheek. A harp played itself softly in the corner. Just as Harry slipped through the door it creaked, sending a shudder up Harry's spine as he cringed. The dog's breathing changed ever so slightly and Harry held as still as possible before it rolled its bulk over with an echoing thud, and then he saw a trapdoor that had previously been hidden under it's stomach.

As quickly as he dared Harry crept towards the trapdoor and pulled it open to expose what appeared to be a bottomless pit. After barely a seconds hesitation he was plummeting down through the air until he landed in what felt like a net, until it started slithering around him and squeezing.

He was just about to start hissing at them to let him go when he felt a jolt, and then a second and a third. Light flared in the pit and the net slithered away, and when he picked himself up off the stone floor he had fell onto he looked up and saw that it wasn't snakes but stems. Devils snare.

Neville, Susan and Hannah clambered to their feet as Harry looked at them in disbelief. Hadn't they literally just been telling him that coming down here was stupid?

"I thought I told you to stay up there?"

"We're Hufflepuffs, Harry. Loyalty is kind of our thing."

At any other time Harry would have rolled his eyes at them, but this time he just turned around and walked towards the door that had been illuminated by the light of their wands.

"Let's go," he said, "Someone's already ahead of us. With any luck they've done all the work for us."

The room the door opened into was round and completely bare. Harry stopped in the doorway and poked his foot into the room and quickly yanked it back again. Nothing happened. Hesitantly he stepped inside, half expecting a huge boulder to fall down and flatten him. Again, nothing happened, so he ran across the room and pulled at the door on the other side.

Locked.

"Alohomora." he tried.

He yanked at the door again. Still locked.

It was only then that he noticed the doorknob was engraved with spiralling symbols that even he recognised. Runes. What was the point in using such basic runes that even he could understand them?

He put the question out of his mind as he heard his friends come up behind him and instead concentrated on the runes, tapping on the correct ones in sequence until he heard an audible click. This time, the door opened.

The next room was wide and lit brightly with flickering torches. In front of them was a collection of white stone balls on one side and a collection of black balls on the other, each at least twice the size of his head, and at the other end of the room was a huge painted ring on the floor with white and black balls scattered around it.

A giant game of gobstones.

When they tried to walk past the balls the stone floor started to rumble menacingly, and if they even raised a foot over the white line that ran horizontally all the way across the room the slabs started to pull apart to leave a great, gaping chasm.

"Looks like this one is for you, Susan." Neville said as he pointed towards a slide like thing at the white side of the room.

It reminded Harry of a steep skateboard ramp that stretched most of the way up to the ceiling, and he supposed it was used kind of like the things inept people used at bowling allies. Move the ramp around to line it up, put the ball on it and then let go.

"How the hell are we supposed to get those up there?" Hannah asked as she pointed to the huge and undoubtedly heavy stone balls.

"Are you a witch or not?" Neville asked, "Use your wand."

Harry flicked his wand out and levitated one of them up and then back down, expecting it to take far more effort than it did. It was surprisingly easy considering the heaviest thing he had levitated before was a desk.

He, Neville and Hannah tried to help Susan at first, but it took just one shot for her to get frustrated at them. Apparently Harry wasn't lifting the ball to the right height, despite the fact that he had done exactly as she told him and they had actually managed to knock one of the black balls out. The three of them left her to it after that, although both Hannah and Neville were still giving her words of encouragement and, in their view, advice.

Harry was far too busy thinking, and not just about Voldemort and the stone. These defences were perfectly suited to him and his friends. Hannah and Neville were both brilliant at herbology, and they had learnt about Devils Snare earlier in the year. It was a well known fact in Hufflepuff that he was reading ahead in both runes and arithmancy and was good at both, just as it was a well known fact that playing gobstones against Susan was a sure-fire way to lose money. It seemed to him that these were tests designed especially for them, but then Dumbledore had no way of knowing that they would be coming down here. If Neville hadn't overheard Weasley they wouldn't have even known about it.

Susan was doing well so far, having already knocked out three three of the required seven black gobstones to win. Their 'opponent' took it's turn as one of the black stones sped across the floor and collided with one of theirs with a resounding crack. The white ball spun out of the circle, and once it came to a stop it started spraying a poisonous green liquid at them from across the room.

The four friends leapt sideways to avoid it. They had expected it to just be the same foul smelling gunk that normal gobstones spat, but going by the way the floor was now smoking and hissing it certainly wasn't. They shared a wide eyed look.

They all dodged the acid successfully twice more, but on the third try Hannah had backed herself into a corner and it splashed across the bottom of her ankle, eating through her robes before she could throw them off. She screamed as Neville and Harry leapt across the burnt stone to try and help.

"Sue! Hurry up and win the bloody game! We don't know what happens if we try to abandon it!"

Determined, Susan knocked the seventh black gobstone out of the ring a few minutes later and rushed over to where Harry and Neville were crouched beside Hannah as the balls rolled themselves back to their original positions.

Harry had used the water making spell to try and wash the acid off but that was the limit to what he could do. There were tears running down her face as she panted and groaned in pain, and Harry was struck with guilt for being the reason she was here in the first place.

"We need to get her to Madam Pomfrey."

"How are we supposed to do that? We can't just levitate her out – there's a huge three headed dog waiting for her! For all we know the only way out might be forwards, and there could be even worse things that way."

Harry rubbed his palms against his head as he racked his brain for an idea.

"Take one of the gobstones," Neville said, "throw it up and through the trap door as hard as we can to wake up the dog up. Hopefully it barking will let one of the professors know something's wrong if they don't know already."

"You two take her." Harry said.

Susan looked at him in disbelief.

"If I don't carry on then Voldemort comes back and Hannah got hurt for nothing."

"Come on Neville, let's go." Susan said, glaring at him as the she and Neville pulled Hannah up from the ground.

"I'm going with Harry." Neville said.

Susan looked between the two of them with something bordering on disgust before she wrapped Hannah's arm around her shoulder and looped one of hers around Hannah's waist.

"Don't get yourselves killed." she demanded before she and Hannah turned and walked slowly back the way they came, levitating one of the stones behind them.

Harry and Neville shared a look and then walked quickly across the room to the next door. From his expression Harry thought that Neville might want the stone as much as Harry wanted to stop Voldemort from getting it.

As soon as they pushed the door open they were hit with one of the foulest stenches Harry had ever smelled. It was putrid, like if a rotten egg had had a baby with a fish that had been left in the sun.

The cause soon became clear as soon as they stepped into the room and torches flared to life. In the centre of the room was a troll, opened from its hip to its neck with blood seeping out onto the floor. Harry had to swallow the bile the rose in his throat, and he could see Neville doing the same. Whoever was trying to steal the stone was a vicious bastard.

They made their way into the next room as quickly as possible, fearing what they might find in it. A dragon? An acromantula? A giant? What they saw was nothing like they expected – just a table with some bottles on it – but it made the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand up on end. It shouldn't be so simple, and it wasn't. As soon as the door swung shut behind them black flames erupted to cover both the door they had just come through and the one they wanted to get to, leaving them trapped in a room with nothing but a desk and some bottles.

There was a piece of parchment on the desk that Harry snatched up and started reading before he slammed it back on the table in annoyance. A bloody riddle, brilliant. Neville was little help, so for the next few minutes Harry pulled bottles forwards and then pushed them back again, muttering to himself under his breath. He eventually narrowed it down to two bottles, one of which was the one he needed. The other one, well, he didn't think it was poison but he also wasn't sure it wasn't.

With a grimace he grabbed one and downed it in one, half expecting to instantly drop dead. He didn't, so it wasn't poison at least.

"Harry? Should I…?"

"No, don't drink anything. None of them will take you through, assuming I drank the right one anyway."

Tentatively, he walked up to the black flames that blocked the way forwards and swiped his left hand through them. His hand didn't burn. All he felt was a gentle warmth, as if he was sat next to a fire.

"I'll see you later." he said without turning around, and then he walked straight through the flames.

For the next few moments all he could see was dancing darkness, and when he came out the other side it wasn't to anything like he expected. It wasn't a gauntlet of magical defences guarding a stone, in fact there was no stone at all. All there was was the mirror that he searched so desperately to find, and stood in front of it was not the imposing figure he had expected to find, but Quirrell.

"You?"

"Potter? I had hoped I would see you here," Quirrell said, his usual stutter nowhere to be seen, "even if I hadn't expected to after you got yourself sent to Hufflepuff."

Quirrell absentmindedly flicked his wand and Harry fell to the ground, bound tightly in ropes.

"I suppose you expected Severus? He sweeps around the castle like an overgrown bat, and he was made both his hatred for you and his preference for the young Malfoy quite clear. Next to that who would suspect poor st-st-stuttering Quirrell? Not even you, and you have been wary of me from the very start. Do you mind if I ask why?" Quirrell asked as he circled the mirror, peering at it or poking it with his wand.

"Your eyes. They weren't scared enough. And you looked angry when you got locked in the great hall on Halloween. A stuttering coward like you pretended to be would be pleased to be safe."

His only option was to delay Quirrell until a teacher came. It was only now, as he struggled and squirmed against his ropes, that he thought about what a stupid idea this had been. Even if he managed to get his wand out he would still be stuck because he hadn't learnt the cutting spell yet.

"Yes, very good. I had wondered." he said distractedly as he stared hungrily into the mirror.

"I don't understand," he continued to himself, "I see myself giving the stone to my master, but where is it? Is it inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

"Your master? You're a Death Eater?" Harry breathed.

Quirrell turned his attention from the mirror to Harry, and the annoyed confusion on his face morphed into pride.

"No, not yet. When He is back to his true form I hope to be allowed the honour, but I was a fool when my master waged war against the mudbloods and the vermin of our world. I was blinded by ideas of right and wrong then, Harry… my master has since shown me the truth. There is no right and wrong, no good and evil… there is only power and those too weak to seek it."

"_Use the boy..._" a voice croaked, and to Harry's horror it seemed to be coming from Quirrell.

"Yes master," he said as he released the ropes, "come, Potter. Tell me what you see."

Harry pushed himself to his feet and stepped in front of the mirror, all too aware of the wand that was pointed at his back. He expected to see his family again, but instead he just saw himself. It was as if he was looking into any other mirror, until the reflection smiled at him and pulled a bright red stone from behind his back. The reflection winked and dropped the stone into his pocket, and as he did so Harry felt something heavy drop into his.

"What do you see?" Quirrell asked impatiently.

"My family, smiling at me."

A sharp flick of Quirrell's wand sent Harry stumbling out of the way, and as he did so he felt the stone press against his leg.

"_He lies.._." the voice croaked again, and Quirrell rounded on him with his wand outstretched.

"_Let me speak to him..._"

"Master, you can't, you're too weak."

"_I have strength enough… for this._"

Quirrell turned around to show Harry his back and started to unwind his turban, and no matter how much Harry wanted to pounce at him and rip the wand from his hand his legs refused to obey his commands. He stood, rooted to the spot as a terrible face showed itself, chalk white with blood red eyes and a snake like nose.

"_Harry Potter… do you see what I have become since last we met? Nothing but vapour, only able to take form when another gives me theirs… but there have always been those that give their hearts and minds to Lord Voldemort… you could too, you need only give me that stone in your pocket… you needn't die at my hand just as your parents did..._"

Harry felt a deep rush of anger burn through his veins at the reminder that this monster killed his parents, and the terror in his legs and in his face melted.

"Back off, snake face."

Voldemort snarled, hissing and spitting.

"_SEIZE HIM!_"

Quirrell lunged at him and grabbed a hold of his wrist, and Harry felt like his head was being cleaved in two. His scar was on fire, ripping him apart, screaming in his ears. And then the pain stopped. He was collapsed on the ground, and when he looked down at his wrist it was red and inflamed. Quirrell was stood hunched over, clutching his hands together, and Harry could see that they were blistered and charred.

"_SEIZE HIM! SEIZE HIM!_" Voldemort shrieked again, but before he could Harry ran at him.

They clattered into the mirror and were sent sprawling across the floor in a shower of shattered glass. Harry lashed out blindly with his foot as Quirrell desperately fumbled for his wand with one hand and squeezed Harry's by the robes with the other. Instinctively, he grabbed onto Quirrell's face and held on, no matter how much Quirrell howled or how much his head was screaming in agony, until the howling stopped.

He pushed Quirrell off him and stared up at the ceiling that seemed to drift and swirl before his eyes. His vision swam as he struggled to sit up and shuffled back against the wall. He stared down at his weeping, flaking skin and the shards of glass that peppered his arms, and suddenly he felt like his soul had been yanked from his body. His teacher was lying dead a few feet away and it was him that had killed him, the man who had killed his parents had inhabited the same castle as him for the past year, in his pocket was a stone with the power of immortality, and yet the only thing going through his head was whether if he poured the elixir on his hands they would heal or be turned to gold.

Slowly, he tried to clamber to his feet but his knees gave way under even the slightest weight and he collapsed, falling and falling down and down and down, embracing the numbness of unconsciousness like a familiar blanket.

**~Scene Change~**

When he woke up, Harry wasn't entirely sure that he had woken up at all. He was staring up at a pearly white ceiling, surrounded by white partitions and wrapped in a white duvet. Maybe this was heaven, and that would mean he had died. When it was Dumbledore that pulled the partitions around his bed open he was almost disappointed it wasn't his parents.

"Harry, dear boy, how are you?"

"I'm fine, headmaster Dumbledore." he replied diplomatically, and the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes seemed to dim slightly.

"I must thank you for your courageous defence of the stone, Harry, but in the same breath I must also apologise that it was necessary. I never suspected Quirinus of turning dark. I should have known."

"We all make mistakes, Headmaster." Harry said with a smile, but his words were barbed.

"Yes," Dumbledore grimaced, "we do. Sadly I have made many throughout my life, many of them bigger than most peoples are. One of the downsides of being Albus Dumbledore, I'm afraid."

"You mean like living a baby on a doorstep in the middle of winter with nothing but a blanket, barely a few hours after his parents had been killed?"

Dumbledore sighed as he conjured a comfortable looking armchair and rubbed his glasses against his robes. He appeared to have been expecting such a conversation, but also like he was none too pleased to be having it.

"It was the safest place for you, Harry, and you have grown up in a happy household with your family. It is just what I had hoped for you. If you were kept in the magical world everyone would have had an ulterior motive, you would not have been safe. I had charms on the basket to ensure only your aunt would see you, and to keep you warm and asleep. I knew that Petunia would take you in; your mother talked about her a lot you know."

"Well if she hadn't stood up to her pig of a husband I wouldn't have been safe there either!"

Dumbledore winced.

"Yes, well, I hadn't accounted for Mr Vernon Dursley. I didn't have time to watch them to make sure it would be suitable; Lord Voldemort had attacked your home, you needed to be taken somewhere safe. Your parents had made their decision on where you should be taken in the event of their deaths, but that choice was shown to be unsuitable and I had very little time to come up with an alternative. I had been making preparations to move you shortly before your aunt filed for divorce – you wouldn't have been as safe as you were there, but you would have been happier. As it was I didn't have to, and for that I am thankful. Family is a precious thing, Harry. There is nothing more precious than family; not gold or influence or magic itself."

Dumbledore looked lost for a second then, and Harry thought that his eyes looked a little more shiny than they had before.

"I managed to simply move the wards that I had placed around the Dursley house to your aunt's new home," he continued with a smile, "a tricky process but worth it in the end. It was clear from my time watching you at Privet Drive that growing up with your aunt would be more than suitable, so I simply left you be."

Harry studied him for a few seconds as he mentally went over what Dumbledore had said and decided he was probably telling the truth. Nothing stuck out and gave him a funny feeling in his stomach, anyway. There wasn't much point lying about it either; everything had worked out.

The majority of his suspicion towards the Headmaster had bled away throughout the year – Dumbledore hadn't tried to speak to him or done anything at all beyond simply be his headmaster, at least to his knowledge – but his suspicion was back with a vengeance now. The defences on the stone were simply too well suited to be coincidental. He opted not to ask about that, though; better for Dumbledore to think he didn't suspect that he had some sort of ulterior motive about him.

"The stone?" he asked.

"It has been destroyed. Nicholas and I have decided that it is best that such an object not exist in the world. It's simply far too powerful, especially in times such as these. Nicholas and Pernelle have enough to set their affairs in order, and after that they will die. Nicholas sounded rather excited about the whole thing, honestly. Believe it or not, Harry, but after so many years death is simply the next great adventure to them."

Damn it. Neville was going to be heartbroken.

"It wouldn't have worked, Harry, though I admire you tremendously for wanting to try."

"Sir?"

"Mr Longbottoms parents. The elixir is unable to heal them, unfortunately. I tried myself once the stone came into my possession, but it had no effect on their condition. They improved physically – the elixir gave them the fitness of the most active of people – but had no effect on their minds, which is unfortunately where the problem lies. I am sorry, Harry, and please pass on those sympathies to Mr Longbottom. I was friends with both your parents and his before that Halloween night, and it is among my most painful regrets that I was unable to protect any of them."

The sorrow in Dumbledore's voice was thick as he stood up and smiled sadly down at Harry.

"I'll just fetch Madam Pomfrey and then you can be on your way. You've been here for five days; I suspect Mr Longbottom, Miss Bones and Miss Abbott are getting rather tired of being told they can't come in to see you. I will warn you though," he said, gesturing to a table laden with sweets that was sat in the corner, "you'll be quite the attraction once you leave. The exact details of what happened in the stone room have been kept secret but everything else? Well, it was meant to be kept secret too, so naturally the entire school knows."

With that he disappeared behind the white sheets and Harry fell back into his pillows as he thought about his confrontation with Quirrellmort. His hands and his arms were healed without even a scar, but as he looked down at them all he could see was the shattered mirror and Quirrell's lifeless corpse.

He had killed him. He didn't know what had happened to Voldemort once his host died, but he had still killed Quirrell. Yes, Quirrell would have killed him if given the choice and yes, he had the man who killed his parents sticking out the back of his head, but that didn't change the facts.

The arrival of Madam Pomfrey shook him from his thoughts and he sat quietly as she bustled around, casting charm after charm on him before she was finally satisfied he was well enough to leave.

"Off you go then. I don't want to be seeing you back here any time soon, Mr Potter. I don't much fancy getting so well acquainted with two generations of Potters." she said sternly, though her lips twitched at the edges.

Harry nodded as Madam Pomfrey left and the partitions slid closed with a flick of her wand, allowing him some privacy to get changed into his uniform that sat neatly folded on the bedside table.

Sure enough, he was being heckled and questioned almost as soon as he left the hospital wing. "What happened to Quirrell?" one shouted, and another asked what it was that had been hidden down there.

Harry remained silent as he walked towards the library and sat down to wait at their usual table. The rabble had stopped outside at Madam Pince's glare and Harry sat in silence until his friends came barging in.

"Harry!" Susan said as she pulled him into a hug, and a few moments later a second and then a third pair of arms joined.

Once they released each other they hurriedly slid into their seats and all leant so far inwards Harry was sure he could count how many freckles were dotted around Susan's face.

"What happened? Neville told us about everything up to where you got separated."

"It was Quirrell. And not just Quirrell," he whispered as he looked around and leant in even further, "Voldemort too. He was sticking out the back of his bloody head!"

All three gasped and drew shuddering breaths, all looking absolutely terrified. Harry had never quite realised how badly Voldemort had affected the wizarding world.

"Quirrell took off his turban and there was this face staring at me out the back of his head, pale and snakelike with bright red eyes. Voldemort said he'd let me join him if I gave him the stone that I'd somehow got from a mirror. God knows how that happened. Obviously I told him no, and then Quirrell grabbed hold of me. Don't ask me why, but Quirrell couldn't touch me without burning. I don't think I'll ever forget the smell." he said distantly.

"He had me pinned and was reaching for his wand," Harry continued after a few seconds, "so I held onto his face and didn't let go. He died, I passed out and woke up an hour ago in the hospital wing."

"He died?" Hannah breathed.

"Yeah, he died." he said quickly before he turned to face Neville, "Nev, it wouldn't have worked. The stone wouldn't have cured your parents. Dumbledore said he tried it. He said sorry as well. Apparently he was friends with both of our parents before it all happened."

"You believe him?"

Harry took a deep breath before he answered.

"Yeah, I do."

It was clear that Harry didn't want to talk about the events of the final room, so his friends told him what had happened outside it. Susan and Hannah had managed to wake the dog up, and eventually Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout had come to investigate the thunderous barking.

Professor Sprout had escorted both Susan and Hannah to the hospital wing while Flitwick carried on to get him and Neville. By the time he had got to the penultimate room where Neville was pacing they had both been able to hear muffled screams through the door. The screaming stopped and Neville had been convinced that Harry had died, and just as Flitwick managed to disable the fire that stopped them from getting in McGonagall arrived and escorted Neville to the hospital wing . The most he could do was snatch a glance through the doorway as he was ushered away, and all he had managed to see was Harry laid limply on the floor.

He had ended up with Susan and Hannah while she got her leg treated, and then Madam Pomfrey had suddenly hurried out and and yanked the partition closed behind her. All three of them had been hidden behind curtains as he was rushed into the infirmary, so all they heard was the hurried footsteps and the hushed whispers. As soon as they were deemed well enough to return to the dormitories they were ushered out of the hospital wing after being told he was unconscious but stable, and that was the last they saw or heard of him until he was let out.

Neville later told him that Susan was quite annoyed with the two of them, even if she was keeping it to herself when he was because she thought he would be "delicate" after what happened with Quirrell. Harry had gaped slightly when he was told; what reason would Susan have to be upset with them? Even after Neville had explained it he still couldn't quite understand it. She was annoyed that they had carried on after Hannah had been injured during the gobstones game? Surely she could understand how important stopping Voldemort was to him, and how important the stone itself was to Neville?

That had upset Harry far more than he thought it should. He was being treated like he was fragile – being tiptoed around like he was made of glass and could shatter into pieces at any moment. Not only that, but one of his best friends was annoyed that he hadn't simply disregarded the entire reason they were just to follow her. As if he was a child who was expected to totter after their mother.

Harry had avoided being seen for a while after he got out of the hospital wing, instead opting to stew in his dorm room or stay under his invisibility cloak. When he did stop hiding, however, he was peppered with questions from what felt like every student at Hogwarts, be they first year or seventh. Luckily, he mostly managed to avoid answering them for the rest of the year, even if some people kept asking them despite his refusal to answer. He simply said that Dumbledore had asked him to keep it to himself, and thankfully the general consensus was that if Dumbledore asked you to do something you do it.

Exam season finally came, and as he had expected Harry breezed through most of the exams on autopilot, barring potions of course. Susan, Neville and Hannah all finished in the top half of the year and Harry finished second, after Hermione Granger. Any other time he might have been a bit upset at being beaten, especially by her, but this time it didn't really register.

Ever since his fight with Quirrell he had been having trouble sleeping, trouble eating, trouble concentrating. He kept finding himself back in that damn room next to Quirrell's body, and no matter how many times he kept telling himself that he had no choice it kept on happening. He was tired of it. He just hoped it stopped soon, but he doubted it would. If anything it was getting worse, building and building and building and he couldn't let it out, because who could he talk to about killing his professor? His friends knew, but they were eleven years old. They couldn't help him, and he didn't want to drop his trauma on them either. Or anyone else for that matter.

Hufflepuff won the house cup for the first time in years thanks to some surprise last minute points from Dumbledore at the end of term feast, and then it was time to go home. Harry trudged down the hill towards the carriages as his friends tried to pull him into their conversation, to no avail. Other students flooded past, smiling and laughing and shoving, but Harry just kept his head down.

It was only when they finally reached the carriages that Harry dragged his eyes away from his shoes, and when he did he stopped in his tracks. He stumbled as another student crashed into the back of him, but he ignored their angry comments in favour of continuing to stare.

There were horses pulling the carriages where last time there had been nothing. They weren't normal horses either; these were almost reptilian, which shining black skin stretched over bony skeletons. Vast, leathery wings sprouted from their sides and the top of their jaw hooked downwards into a claw. Their pupil-less eyes were white and flickering, and each and every pair seemed to be staring at him, burning a hole into his soul. He shivered.

"What the hell are they?" Harry asked shakily.

"What are what?"

"The horses that are pulling the carriages."

All three of them were now looking at him in concern.

"Can you not see them? They're right there! Black and leathery with big bat-like wings, and they're all staring right at me."

His friends continued to stare at him as they slowly shook their heads, and Harry looked rapidly between them and the horses before he strode shakily towards the nearest carriage. Shying away from the front end, he swung open the door and leapt inside, and the three remaining friends shared a look before they joined him.

No one spoke during the ride to the station, and no one spoke as they climbed aboard the train or as they found a compartment. Harry slid into the window seat and watched as more and more carriages arrived as the river of students began to slow to a trickle. Even now the horses seemed to be staring at him, and with a flick of his wand the blinds came falling down across the window. He let out a breath.

Before long he felt the train start to move and he raised the blinds again, tapping his fingers against the smooth wood of the window frame as the hills rolled by. Susan, Hannah and Neville were chatting about something or other while Harry put in the occasional comment, but other than that he just watched the scenery fly past. His neck prickled each time one of them looked concernedly in his direction, but he just wasn't much in the mood for socialising. He hadn't been for a while now, he supposed.

He was quite thankful to be going home. He had missed his aunt and his cousin of course, but more than that he was just anxious to get away from the wizarding world for a while. Although he had slowly become accustomed to the stares and the looks, they still got to him. Especially since Quirrell. He didn't need to be reminded of it every time he heard someone talk about defence or he looked in a mirror.

Finally, the train slowed to a stop at Kings Cross and Harry said goodbye to his friends and promised for what felt like the hundredth time that he would write. The three of them were clearly still quite concerned about him, and while he kind of liked it it also irked him. He didn't need to be watched and coddled like a baby, even if it was still nice to know that they cared enough to want to.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Aunt Petunia and Dudley were waiting just where they had at Christmas, and he could see from the frown on Aunt Petunia's face that it had barely taken her three seconds to realise something was wrong. Thankfully she didn't push him, and the car ride home was made up of him listening to Dudley tell him what he had missed that hadn't been deemed worthy of being put in their sporadic letters. He didn't say much, just listened and nodded his head to show that he was paying attention.

Aunt Petunia glared at Dudley in her rear view mirror when Dudley let slip that he had pushed someone into the school swimming pool because they had made him drop his lunch. Dudley looked contrite, but as soon as her eyes returned to the road he gave Harry a proud smile. Harry found it calming for some reason, that despite what had happened under the trapdoor everything had carried on as normal. The sky was still blue, water was still wet, and Dudley still didn't think before he spoke.

Harry spent the rest of the day watching TV, even despite Dudley's begging to see his new spells. He supposed all he was doing was making it more and more obvious that something was wrong, which wasn't really a bad thing for him. He didn't want to have to go up to his aunt and say that he had been having problems ever since the Quirrell incident; the thought made him feel like a burden foisting his problems on people. He'd rather wait for her to ask him. That way he hadn't started it.

When his show finally ended and he pushed himself from the sofa to go to bed Aunt Petunia's voice called from the kitchen.

"Harry, can you come here please?"

Dudley had paused half way up the stairs but a wave of Harry's hand persuaded him to carry on, still glancing between the gaps in the banisters. When he pushed open the kitchen door Aunt Petunia was sat at the table nursing a mug while another sat steaming at the seat opposite her. Hot chocolate, Harry knew. It was what Aunt Petunia had always done when she thought he was upset – mugs of hot chocolate at the kitchen table. Harry smiled slightly as he took his seat and sipped from his mug.

The kitchen stayed silent for a few minutes as he held his mug in his hands, tapping his fingers against the sides and taking the occasional gulp until he finally spoke.

"Ever since the Quirrell incident I haven't been able to sleep – nightmares sometimes, and sometimes I just can't seem to fall asleep no matter how hard I try. I've had trouble concentrating, trouble eating, headaches. I just want it to go away."

"The Quirrell incident?" Aunt Petunia asked.

She didn't know? Harry had assumed that Dumbledore would have written to at least tell her that he had been hurt. He had been unconscious for days; at non magical school they had phoned home if he hit his head playing football, never mind if he had almost died.

He was starting to wish he had just carried on upstairs now. Before he had been thinking that they would talk a little about it, and then hopefully he would feel better after letting some of it out. But now he had to tell her exactly what had happened, all of it; he didn't much fancy reliving it, especially as he knew she would be angry that he went down there at all. But then, it didn't look like he had much choice.

Surprisingly, Aunt Petunia didn't interrupt him while he told her what had happened, though she had looked damn close when he was trying to justify going to the forbidden corridor in the first place. Up until the gobstones room he was fine, but as he got closer and closer to that final room he started to stumble over his words.

"There was only enough potion for one of us to pass through the fire, so I was the one that went. I don't know who I expected to be – maybe Snape? - but it wasn't; it was Professor Quirrell. I should have known it would be him. He'd given me a weird feeling all year. He bound me in ropes and took off his turban, and..."

His fingers stopped their tapping on the table and curled into a fist, pressing into his palm hard enough to carve crescent moons into his skin. He'd been reduced to every other wizard, too scared to even talk about him. That made him angry. Voldemort holding power over him even after he'd beaten him twice galled.

"Voldemort's face was on the back of his head," he ground out, "staring out at me. He looked like a really pale snake – no nose and slit pupils in bright red eyes. He wanted the stone. Quirrell grabbed me to try and get it, and then my head felt like someone had embedded an axe in it. As soon as he let go the pain stopped, but where he had grabbed had burned. All red and inflamed. Quirrell's hands were completely blistered though, even charred, so whatever it was must have affected him more. I don't know why, but he couldn't touch me without burning.

"So, the next time he tried to grab me, I grabbed his face and held on until… until he stopped screaming. I passed out after that, and then woke up in the hospital wing a few days later."

Aunt Petunia didn't speak for a few moments, instead opting to stare into her mug as she gently swilled around the last dregs of her drink.

"Would he have hurt you? Killed you, even?" she asked finally.

Harry nodded.

"Then you did exactly what you should have done."

Harry startled slightly as he finally raised his eyes from his lap to look at her, expecting to see disgust, horror, even revulsion. Instead, she looked _worried. _A weight he hadn't realised was there fell from his shoulders as she reached across the table and gently patted the back of his hand.

"I don't like that you were in that situation in the first place, and we will be talking about the danger you are in at Hogwarts and what is and isn't an acceptable risk, but once you were there you did what you had to do. This Quirrell, he was ready to kill you. I would far rather he die than you do."

Harry felt himself smile, even as tears trickled town his cheeks and clung to his jaw.

"Goodnight, Aunt Petunia."

"Goodnight Harry."

That was the first night in weeks that Harry had not been plagued with nightmares. Instead of Quirrell's writhing corpse and piercing screams he dreamt of summer holidays from years past, of beaches and forests and long car journeys spent bickering with Dudley until they were finally told to be quiet. He awoke feeling lighter than he had the day before. Not as light as he had felt before Quirrell, not anywhere close, but lighter nonetheless. It was a start.

In the days after he continued to feel better and better. Being at home was the main thing, he thought. It helped him to remove himself from it all, and it meant that he wasn't constantly reminded at every sight of the empty seat at the professors table or at every mention of Defence Against the Dark Arts. The smell when Aunt Petunia burnt a chicken still made the back of his mouth go dry, and he still avoided looking in mirrors.

He showed Dudley his spells and he went out with their friends, who were more than happy to see him. He made up outlandish stories of his normal, muggle private school and all the insufferable rich kids he had terrorised, and then they played football and played all the video games he had missed out on. Laughing and smiling slowly became easier.

Aunt Petunia treated him just as she had always done, albeit with a few more 'are you okay' glances and a few less chores. It helped him remember that the flashbacks and the nightmares that still occasionally reared their ugly heads didn't make him broken, and that she didn't blame him. She didn't think he was some kind of monster.

But he still wasn't getting better as fast as he wanted to. He'd been hoping to be back to 'normal' again in time to board the Hogwarts Express, but that wasn't looking likely as his mood continued to dive and strafe seemingly at random.

Not a single letter had arrived all summer. After a week Harry had began to wonder if there was a reason that his friends hadn't written to him, racking his brain for any mention of holidays. After two weeks he worried that something terrible had happened, and after three he had resigned himself to the fact that they just didn't want to talk to him. _They must have decided that they didn't want to be friends with a murderer_, he thought as he laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling just as he had been doing for what felt like hours.

A popping sound pulled him from his daze. At first he assumed that Aunt Petunia must have opened a bottle of champagne or something, disregarding that it was a Tuesday afternoon when nothing worthy of celebration had happened and that his Aunt was actually at work.

Blinking, he sat up and looked around his room, and promptly blinked a few more times when he saw what was stood next to his closet, wringing its little hands. It had large, bat like ears that flapped as it peered up at him with bulging green eyes that appeared about to explode out of its head.

"Hi?"

"Harry Potter," the creature squeaked, "such an honour it is to meets you..."

"Er, right, cheers," Harry said as he edged back on his bed so that his back was resting against the wall and his feet no longer dangled over the edge. Who knew what this thing ate. "Who are you?"

"Dobby sir, just Dobby. Dobby the house elf."

So this was what house elves looked like. Harry was a bit disappointed; he'd been hoping for Legolas.

"Why are you here Dobby? Not that I'm not happy to meet you," he added hastily as the elf's eyes bulged even more, "I'm just wondering why you're in my bedroom."

"Oh, Harry Potter sir, Dobby has come to tell you something important… very important, sir… Dobby wonders where to begin."

"Why don't you sit down?" Harry asked as he gestured towards his desk chair and cringed at the pile of clothes that was currently occupying it.

"Sit down!" he cried, "no, no… Dobby could never do such a thing!"

"Alright, alright," Harry said quickly as he glanced towards the ajar door, "sorry. I didn't mean to offend you or anything."

"No, no, sir, Dobby is not offended, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby choked out, "Dobby has _never _been asked to sit down by a wizard – like an _equal..._"

"All the wizards you've must must have been dicks then," Harry joked. If ever his friends were upset one thing that always cheered them up was saying awful things about the people that had upset them.

Dobby nodded slightly, and then, to Harry's horror, he started furiously banging his head against the wall.

"Bad Dobby! _Bad Dobby!_" he shouted.

"What the fu-" Dudley's voice petered off as he barged into the room and immediately stopped at the sight of the creature that was still yelling to itself as it headbutted the wall.

"Dobby, stop that!" Harry hissed as he yanked the elf away and dropped him on the bed.

"Er, Harry," Dudley murmured as he stared at Dobby, "what the hell is that?"

"This is Dobby, he's a house elf."

"And he doesn't eat people, right?"

Dobby looked offended at the thought, or as offended as a house elf could look with tears and snot dripping down it's face.

"I would say that the fact he hasn't eaten me suggests not."

His fears soothed, Dudley sprinted across the room, shoved the clothes off of Harry's chair into a heap on the floor, and spun around in the chair to stare at Dobby, his eyes wide as he leant forwards with his elbows on his knees, bare inches away from the elf's face. Dobby looked less bothered by that than the pile of clothes on the floor. A click of the elf's fingers caused the clothes to float into the air, fold themselves and then put themselves in their proper places while Dudley watched, enthralled.

"Can you do that to the stuff in my room?" Dudley asked breathlessly.

Dobby nodded eagerly, his ears flapping against the side of his head.

"Right hang on," Harry interrupted, "Dobby. First of all, why did you just try and give yourself brain damage?"

The thought that the elf might already have some passed through his mind

"Dobby had to punish himself, Harry Potter sir. Dobby spoke ill of his family."

"Your family?"

"The wizard family that Dobby serves, sir. Dobby is bound to the family and will serve them forever."

"And your family told you to come here?" Harry asked.

"Oh no, sir… Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this-"

"You _what?" _Dudley exclaimed.

"-but the great Harry Potter must be warned! Dobby heard that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord a second time just months ago, and that he escaped yet again."

Harry nodded stiffly and gave Dudley a warning look as Dobby started to cry.

"Harry Potter is so great, so good..." he gasped, "he is much too valiant to be lost. Too important. Dobby must protect him, must _warn _him, even if it means he must punish himself. _Harry Potter cannot return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._"

"Why not?" Harry asked, surprised.

"There is a plot, Harry Potter sir. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry Potter will be in grave danger if he returns!"

"What terrible things? Who's plotting them?"

Dobby shuddered for a few seconds before he grabbed for the book on Harry's bedside table and started banging his face against it.

"Alright, alright," Harry yelled as he pulled the book off him, "I won't ask anything else. That doesn't mean I'm going to stay at home though. I'm going to back to Hogwarts, Dobby; I want to learn more magic, I want to see my friends again."

"Friends that don't even write to Harry Potter?"

"How the hell do _you _know that my friends haven't written to me?" Harry growled after a moment of confused silence, his eyes narrowed.

"Now, Harry Potter mustn't be angry..." Dobby said nervously as he pulled a sizeable stack of letters out of his pillowcase, " Dobby did it for the best. He thought that if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him, then he would not want to return to Hogwarts..."

Harry made a swipe for the letters but Dobby sprang just out of reach and then darted through Dudley's legs, who had been trying to come up on the elf from the side.

"Harry Potter will have his letters, sir, if he swears that he will not return to school. There is danger that you mustn't face, sir! Say you won't go back."

"Dobby, give me my damn letters!" he shouted.

"Then you leave Dobby no choice." the elf said sadly before he darted from the room and sprinted down the stairs.

Harry and Dudley sprang after him, and by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs Dobby was stood in the living room, levitating the contents of Aunt Petunia's good china cabinet up near the ceiling.

"Harry Potter must give his word that he will not return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Dobby, please… she'll kill me…"

"Just tell him you won't," Dudley whispered from beside him, "then just go anyway."

"Oh yes, because after all this he'll decide to just let me off." Harry hissed.

"Say it, sir..."

"Dobby, please," he said pleadingly.

Dobby gave him a tragic look.

"Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."

And with that, everything came crashing down. Plates and cups and saucers shattered into a thousand shards and flew across the room, embedding themselves in chairs and disappearing under cabinets. Dobby disappeared with a pop, hidden amongst the smashing plates that echoed around the room even after everything had long since become still.

"She's going to kill us." Harry said quietly.

"You think if we just get rid of all the pieces she'll notice? Or we could fake a break in."

"Yes, she'll notice. And Dudley, why would someone break in, steal some plates, but decide to leave the flat screen TV right next to them?"

"Maybe it was too big."

Harry gave him a withering look.

"Well alright," Dudley said irritably, "this is all your fault anyway. Why don't you just whip out your magic wand and fix it?"

"Because I don't know the spell? If I did don't you think I would have already done it?"

"How hard can it be? Just guess. Fixo, fixio, fixamenti. That's three you can try."

Harry scowled at him even as he withdrew his wand from its holster. It was worth a go, he supposed. If nothing else it would serve as an investigation into his theory that words and incantations didn't really matter all that much. He didn't have any other option other than plan his own funeral for when his aunt got home.

First he went through Dudley's three suggestions, to no avail, and then through some other random incantations that he made up himself. Menda, mendi, mendo, mendio. None of them worked. After a while he gave up with the incantations and just concentrated solely on fixing everything. Again, nothing happened until, after over a minute of constant effort, shards began crawling agonisingly slowly towards each other until he had a single plate sat amongst the million other fragments, just as flawless as it had been before it had smashed.

After a brief celebration Harry continued, and twenty minutes later he had repaired five more, getting quicker every time. Dudley was putting each one back in what they fuzzily remembered being it's proper place when they heard Aunt Petunia's car door slam shut. Dudley froze, a teacup still clutched between his fingers, and Harry panicked. He screwed his eyes up and slashed his wand across his body, and when he opened them everything was fixed.

The two of them scrambled to put the remaining china away, and just as the front door clicked open they pulled the cabinet door closed. When Aunt Petunia appeared in doorway Harry was halfway across the room on his way to the kitchen in an attempt to distance himself from any evidence. Dudley stood still and smiled.

"You boys okay?" she asked suspiciously.

"We're fine," Harry said, "we were just going to look in the fridge to see what to have for dinner. Come on Dudley."

His aunt watched with a frown as Dudley darted across the room and followed Harry into the kitchen.

"You can't tell Aunt Petunia about Dobby," Harry whispered, watching over his shoulder as his aunt inspected the living room for damage.

"Why not? If its dangerous..." Dudley replied.

Harry had been planning to threaten him somehow, but the genuine worry in his voice stopped him.

"Look, if you spent a year in a castle learning magical spells and potions and riding broomsticks, would you be able to go back to learning algebra and analysing poems?"

"No," he said slowly, "but if Dobby's telling the truth and you'd be in loads of danger, wouldn't it be better to do maths than be dead?"

"Yes, obviously, but I don't think that he is. I'm pretty famous, Dud, you know that, and some things that happened last year have kinda added to it. There's plenty of people who feel threatened by it and who want a bit of the attention that people would otherwise be giving me. They just want to scare me off to prove I'm not all that. Just please, don't tell her."

It was a lie. He didn't think anyone would go to that length to try and scare off a second year, and Dobby himself was adamant that the danger was real. A family that made their elf shut its ears in oven doors was not one that would plot idly about things. But still, he would rather be in danger in the magical world than live safely in the non magical one. Once you see behind that particular curtain, you never want to go back.

"Fine, I won't tell mum."

"Thanks, Dud."

**~Scene Change~**

Ever since he had managed to somehow fix nearly a dozen plates at once with no incantation or wand movement he had been testing his theory a bit more. Wand movements seemed to have minimal importance, but doing it without the incantation as well seemed to be much harder. Harry wasn't sure why, but his attempts to cast spells without either had been met with extremely limited success. The most he had managed was _lumos _and _wingardium leviosa, _but even then his control was nowhere near as good as it was with the incantations. It called for more practise.

And now, after weeks of waiting, his book list had finally arrived. Frankly Harry was annoyed it had taken this long; it meant he didn't have as much time to learn more spells. For the past week the only new magic he had been able to learn were runes – he'd learnt all the spells in his books, and he, in his opinion, had pretty much mastered all the concepts in his beginners guide to arithmancy. He'd finished his beginners runes book months ago, but the book he had gotten from Susan was more than advanced enough to be getting on with.

One or two of the books on the list he actually already had and had worked through, not that he'd known they were for second years when he bought them. Most of the books, however, were written by one man and, judging by the titles, were more likely to be story books than textbooks. Harry really hoped he was wrong, otherwise another one of his classes would be a waste of time.

When they reached Diagon Alley he and Aunt Petunia skirted around the crowd that was forming outside Flourish and Blotts and did everything else first in the hope that the crowd would die down. He got new robes to replace those that he had outgrown or simply ruined to the point not even magic could help him, replaced some of his potions ingredients and stocked up on parchment. He spent a few seconds gazing into the dark side street that bled off the main high-street before his aunt pulled him back towards the bookshop.

Annoyingly, the crowd at Flourish and Blotts hadn't diminished at all. In fact, if anything it had got bigger. Harry grumbled to himself as he started pushing his way through the chattering crowd and towards the door as quickly as he could. The inside of the shop was hardly any better. Bookshelves had been moved to create a large space in the centre of the shop floor that was crammed full of middle aged women who were acting more like teenagers, and at the front was a raised table behind which a rather large peacock was sat.

He was handsome, but the same handsome as a reality TV star who was actually far older than they appeared. His wavy blonde hair rose into an elaborate quiff and he had teeth so white Harry wished he was wearing sunglasses. The robes he was wearing were, in a word, nauseating. Flamboyant purple with rivers of silver sequins flowing down the sides, twitching as the man raised his arms and prickling at Harry's eyes. Members of the crowd glared at an irate looking man as he hopped around with camera in hand, barging people out of his way as puffs of smoke drifted from his camera and the peacock struck pose after pose.

"Witches and wizards," he shouted as he stood, winking at as many witches as he could as while doing so, "I have an announcement to make that I have been sitting on for a while now. You are all here to purchase your copy of my autobiography, _Magical Me,"_

The crowd cheered madly and the man made an exaggerated bow, grinning from ear to ear.

"but some of you will be getting much, _much _more. Some of you will in fact be getting the real, magical me. It is with no small amount of pleasure that I announce that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, will be fulfilling the Defence Against the Dark Arts post this year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

Applause erupted as people whistled and cheered. A girl that Harry recognised as a fifth year Hufflepuff looked ready to faint as she clutched a stack of Lockhart's books to her chest. Roses started throwing themselves onto the stage as Lockhart bowed to each corner of the store, flashing smiles at the screaming witches as he did so. Harry managed to hide behind a particularly plump woman in front of him before the peacock managed to catch sight of him; he could only imagine what would happen if a man like that saw the Boy-Who-Lived.

Aunt Petunia was looking at Lockhart as if he were something particularly unpleasant that had stuck itself to the bottom of her shoe. Her lips were drawn in a grimace, and Harry was sure that she would try and use him as more ammunition to try to persuade him not to return to Hogwarts.

She was sure there were other magical schools, she had said the night before, better magical schools that he could go to. His parents hadn't gone to any other magical school though, so Harry refused. His aunt had long since learnt when he could be persuaded and when she would have more chance of pushing a hurricane off course with a hair-dryer. This occasion was the latter.

Quickly, Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd into the bookshelves. Once he was sure that Lockhart wouldn't be able to see them he stopped and flipped open the book he had swiped from the one of the piles that were dotted around the room.

_Voyages with Vampires, _it was called, and just from skimming through a few pages of it Harry had a feeling that it was more or less pure fiction. He certainly wasn't going to be wasting his money to buy this and six other equally fictitious wastes of paper. It looked like Binns wasn't going to be alone on his list of useless professors this year.

They picked up the rest of the books he needed in short order, as well as a selection of other books that caught his fancy. He took a particular interest in the Defence Against the Dark Arts section now that he knew he'd have to teach himself.

Yells and scuffling feet dragged his attention towards the shop entrance where, shockingly, two men were having a fist fight. Harry dashed across the shop, slipping between people to try and get a better look. Wizards fighting like muggles? How brilliant was that?

He had expected two drunkards, despite the fact that it wasn't yet two o'clock in the afternoon. Who else would start fighting in a book shop? What he wasn't expecting was a silver haired man in elegant robes to be being throttled against a bookcase by a short man with balding ginger hair. Even better than that were the two boys who were scrambling against each other on the floor, throwing desperate punches and scratching and biting. Malfoy screeched as Weasley managed to drag his nails across his face while the twins stood and watched, clapping and cheering.

_But my birthday's next week, _Harry thought as he gleefully watched the father and son street fight.

When the two adults were yanked off each other by a pair of massive hands and Weasley's mother finally pulled him off Malfoy Harry felt the urge to groan. It had just been getting good! Malfoy Senior struggled against Hagrid's grip as his eye slowly blackened, and the elder Weasley had a few scratches on his face that were bleeding lightly. The effects of the junior fight were even more entertaining – blood was pouring from Draco's nose, and there was a clump of ginger hair on the floor.

"Take your book, girl. Its the best your pathetic family can afford." Malfoy senior snarled as he threw a black book on the floor before he grabbed Draco by the shoulder and swept from the shop.

"You should have ignored him, Arthur," Hagrid said as who Harry assumed was Mrs Weasley healed the cuts on her husbands face.

"Alright, Harry?" the twins asked in unison as they appeared in front of him, "enjoy that?"

"I'm disappointed it's over, honestly."

"I wouldn't worry," one of them chirped, "Ron's sure to get into a fight with Malfoy once we get to Hogwarts."

"Horrible temper, that one," the other cut in.

"Who? Ron or Malfoy?"the first said.

The two of them looked at each other before their heads swung as one to look at Harry.

"Both!"

"Boys!" Mrs Weasley shouted as she herded her other two children and her husband out as those in the shop continued to mutter and stare.

"Oop, Mother is calling. See ya around, Harry. You need any more prank stuff you just let us know. We have our ways." one of them said with a wink before they each tapped the side of the other's nose and skipped from the shop.

Aunt Petunia cleared her throat from behind him.

"I promise I didn't bring any home," he said as he turned around.

She raised her eyebrow at him.

"Alright, I didn't bring much home. But I wasn't just going to waste it, was I? I won't use any at home I promise. Properly this time."

It was clear that she didn't believe him. He couldn't blame her, really; he had already put frog spawn soap in the shower.

"Bless my soul," the peacock shouted from the front of the store, "that _can't _be Harry Potter!"

Harry just about managed to drag Aunt Petunia from the store before Lockhart could reach him and sink his claws in, thankfully, but it was a close thing. The man had got close enough that his perfume stung at Harry's nose as he picked his way through the bustling street. It was lucky they had already done everything else they needed to, because when Harry looked over his shoulder as they made their way back towards the Leaky Cauldron he could see Lockhart's hair flopping from side to side as he scoured the crowd. Harry had the sinking feeling that being a professor wouldn't do much to stop Lockhart doing similar once they got to Hogwarts.

His birthday wasn't anything special; Aunt Petunia had to work, so Harry simply invited his friends round to play video games and eat the frozen pizzas that his aunt had left for them. Other than that, the rest of the summer started to blend together. He spent his time in much the same way he had before, except now he spent his evenings studying his new books instead of lounging in front of the TV.

The Quirrell incident had taught him a few things: one, that there were still people who wanted to hurt him and who would do just that, and two, that if they chose to do so he was hopelessly outmatched. He had gotten indescribably lucky that Quirrell happened to be unable to touch him, and that he hadn't simply killed him and taken the stone off his corpse.

The third thing he had learnt was that he needed to learn to control himself. There was no way he should have gone down there in the first place. What stung was that he knew he was quite capable of doing so – there was more than one occasion before he had started Hogwarts when he had controlled his impulses and forced himself to think without emotion clouding his judgement. And yet, even the slightest insinuation of his parent's killer being alive had rendered that impossible. That couldn't happen again.

No letters were delivered for the rest of the summer, just as Harry had expected. Dobby was clearly still intercepting his mail, assuming his friends had continued writing to him of course, but luckily he didn't reappear in the house again. Harry was liable to curse the elf if he did.

"And you're sure you want to return to Hogwarts this year?" Aunt Petunia asked as he dragged his trunk down the stairs on the morning of September 1st, "I'm sure it's not too late to enlist you in another magical school. I bought a book when we were in Diagon Alley; there's one in France and one somewhere in Eastern Europe. They're both supposed to be very good."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia. I'm sure."

She clearly wasn't pleased, but she knew that if he wanted to go to Hogwarts he would find a way to get there even if she plonked him on a plane to France herself. If there was one thing that infuriated her about Harry it was his stubbornness.

"Well, if you change your mind over the course of the year you just need to tell me. I'll sort everything else out."

An hour later they were crawling through the London traffic on their way to Kings Cross in a comfortable silence. They pulled into the car park with plenty of time and Harry dashed off to get a trolley while his aunt did her best to manoeuvre his trunk out of the boot. Once his trunk was finally on the trolley Harry felt his aunt place a hand on his shoulder and turn him to face her.

"Goodbye Harry, and please stay safe."

"I will. Goodbye Aunt Petunia. I'll see you at Christmas."

She stood still for a few seconds before she squeezed his shoulder and then got back into her car, already late for work. The engine roared to life and Harry saw her looking at him in her rear view mirror. He smiled slightly at her, and then she finally reversed out of her space and slowly drove towards the exit. Harry waved until the car turned onto the main road and into traffic, and then he started pushing his trolley towards the platforms.

Just like last year, he received plenty of strange looks as he made his way towards the entrance of platform nine and three quarters, but this time they were much easier to ignore. It was amazing what being stared at like an animal in a zoo for a year could do.

Harry glanced around to make sure no one was watching before he pushed his trolley towards the barrier that separated platforms nine and ten, expecting to walk straight through.

CRASH.

His trolley hit the barrier and bounced straight back, sending both Harry and his trolley clattering to the floor. Every person within earshot looked towards him as the sharp cry of metal against stone echoed around the platform. Harry pulled himself to his feet as quickly as possible and yanked his trolley back onto its wheels, incredibly thankful for the featherweight charms as he hoisted his trunk back onto the trolley, even if he had to act like it was far heavier than it was due to the eyes he could still feel staring in his direction.

"Oi! What in the blazes d'you think you're doing?" a guard yelled as he approached.

"Just waiting for school friends," Harry smiled politely, "I lost control of the trolley for a second. Sorry."

The guard looked suspiciously towards his trunk and the Hogwarts crest that was painted on it

"Private School." Harry said by way of explanation.

"You don't look like a private school kid."

"Thanks."

The guard eyed him for a few more seconds before he continued on his way, sending occasional glances over his shoulder.

For the next few minutes Harry pressed the end of his trolley against the pillar and pushed his full weight against it as discreetly as he could, but still the entrance remained closed. A glance at the clock told him he had half an hour until the train would depart, so he admitted defeat and dragged his trolley to a nearby bench and sat down to wait for another Hogwarts student to come past.

It didn't take long for another magical family to arrive, and he watched as they walked straight through. _Must have been a temporary glitch, _he thought as he stood up and pushed his trolley back towards the barrier, slowly this time. Again, it bounced right back off.

"Oh, this bloody elf," he muttered to himself.

A while later a small family arrived, three children pushing their trolleys with their parents walking behind them. Just as they were about to walk through the barrier Harry forced himself into the centre of their convoy and, this time, walked straight through.

"Sorry," Harry said to the man whose ankles he had bashed with his trolley before he swerved around and weaved his way down the train.

His trolley vanished into thin air as he levitated his trunk off it with a flick of his wand and climbed onto the train in search of his friends. It didn't take long to find them, and as soon as he pulled the compartment door open he was being peppered with questions and relieved exclamations.

"A house elf did all that? I didn't even know it was possible for the barrier to be blocked." Neville said once they had all finally quietened enough for Harry to explain.

"Yep. Really weird little thing. Thought he was going to headbutt a hole through my wall."

"Who do you think is behind it?" Neville asked.

"Definitely one of the Slytherins." Hannah said with a shudder, "Who else would want to make terrible things happen at Hogwarts?"

Harry, Neville, and Susan rolled their eyes in unison. They had long since gotten used to Hannah's naive, black-and-white beliefs, but that didn't make them any less irritating.

"Do any of you know who Dobby's family is?" Harry asked, "When I asked he just started punishing himself."

"No, house elves aren't monitored or anything like that so there's no way of knowing. Sounds like a bad one though. I mean, to make it shut its ears in the oven?" Susan said with disgust dripping from her voice, "We have house elves at home, but they're all treated fairly; they have their own wing in the house, they all have uniforms. Dobby's family sounds barbaric."

"Sad thing is I bet there's loads of families that treat their house elves that way. You've got all the families that supported You-Know-Who, and all the others that agreed with him but just didn't do it in public. And if his family is anything like that, I'm seriously scared about whatever plot he's talking about." Neville said.

"We should tell someone. About the plot, I mean."

"What's the point?" Harry said said, "We don't know anything. We can't exactly go to Dumbledore and just say 'oh by the way, there's a plot to make terrible things happen at Hogwarts this year, and we don't actually know what the plot is, we just know there is one because a crazy house elf called Dobby broke into my house and told me.' How do you think that would go?"

"Fine. I see your point, but if we find anything else out we tell someone."

"Obviously."

"Maybe you shouldn't have come back to Hogwarts, Harry," Susan said as she fiddled with the delicate gold ring on her finger, "You were in enough trouble last year, and this year there's an actual plot that assumedly involves you!"

Harry looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

"You sound like my aunt."

"Your aunt is a smart woman then," she said, "what did she say about Dobby?"

"Nothing. I didn't tell her. She tried to talk me out of coming back after I told her about the stone; if I'd told her about Dobby she'd have shipped me off to France no matter how much I argued."

None of his friends looked particularly supportive of lying to his aunt, but at least they didn't try and lecture him about it. He spent almost the entirety of the train ride listening as Susan, Hannah, and Neville filled him in on all things they had put in his intercepted letters. Hannah's greenhouses, the rants Neville's gran had gone on, the way that Malfoy had embarrassed himself at a pureblood gala of some sort.

Throughout it all he could see the three of them discreetly trying to decide if he was okay or not, and judging by the way the looks continued as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, they couldn't decide. Harry wasn't sure why they would think he wasn't okay – he felt fine.

"Ooooh," Harry said suddenly, "did I tell you about the fight in Diagon Alley?"

Neville roared with laughter as Harry told them what had happened in Flourish and Blotts, and both Hannah and Susan sniggered even as they tried their best not to. The irony of Malfoy, a known hater of anyone who wasn't pureblood, brawling like a common muggle wasn't lost on any of them.

"Did you meet Gilderoy Lockhart?" Hannah asked only to immediately blush.

"Sort of. I saw him strutting around on a stage before the fight, and after he tried to chase me. I didn't interact with him, thank God. Just from that I can tell you the man is a waste of space."

Hannah gasped, and even Susan looked affronted.

"Gilderoy Lockhart is an honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League! He has an Order of Merlin Third Class!" Hannah cried.

"And I have an Order of Merlin First Class – that doesn't mean I could win a fight against a coven of vampires."

"That's because you're barely twelve years old!"

"So? You all thought I killed Voldemort when I was one."

"Alright ladies, calm down. We'll just have to wait until we have a class with him to decide," Neville interrupted as he tried to contain his smile. He could tell from the amused smirk on Harry's face that he could continue this argument for hours.

The sun had long since sunk below the horizon by then, and it wasn't long later that they were informed that they would soon be arriving in Hogsmeade. Hannah continued to glare at Harry as they pulled their robes over their heads, to the amusement of everyone else, and only stopped once they stepped off the train.

They followed the tide of students towards the carriages, and again Harry spent several long seconds staring at the leathery horses that were pulling them up the hill.

"They're called thestrals," Susan said quietly from beside him, "I asked Auntie. They can only be seen by people who have seen death."

Harry nodded as a ball formed in his throat. Slowly, he followed Hannah and Neville towards the carriages and felt the thestrals' stare at him as he approached. While Hannah, Neville, and Susan clambered into the carriage he stood and looked up into its endless pale eyes. Eventually he smiled slightly to himself and ran a palm down it's bony side before he climbed into the carriage. He supposed he must have looked mental, staring up at nothing, but then mental was hardly the worst he'd been called.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The welcome feast was quite different now that he got to watch the sorting from his seat at the Hufflepuff table without the wonder or the apprehension he had felt when he first walked through those doors. He wondered what he had looked like then; whether he was stoic like some of the first years he could see now, or whether he looked scared or calm or totally in awe.

Lockhart was sat preening at the professors table as students of various ages gazed longingly up at him. The look on one girl's face when Lockhart smiled at her made Harry gag. He could tell the exact moment that Lockhart saw him; his face brightened into a roguish grin as his eyes flicked from Harry's face to his scar and back again. Harry was sure that the man was going to be beyond insufferable.

There was a collective sigh from many of the female students and some of the males too when Dumbledore finally introduced Lockhart. Hannah looked like her heart was about to beat out of her chest when he looked in the direction of the Hufflepuff table, and even as they left the Great Hall to go to their dorms she continued to look at him over her shoulder.

His dorm was an extra twist down the spiralling stairs this year, but in all other ways it was exactly the same. It was as if everything had simply been moved down; his initials were still scratched into the bedpost along with those of countless others, the view from their enchanted window still showed the same view of the quidditch pitch, and Zacharius still smiled smugly as he went on and on about the lavish holiday he had been on with his family.

Their first class was herbology with Gryffindor, and as Harry and Neville wandered down towards the greenhouses the next morning with Susan and Hannah a few steps in front of them he noticed that Professor Sprout was far from her cheerful self as she approached the already crowded entrance to greenhouse 1. The reason for that was immediately obvious: Gilderoy Lockhart was striding along at her side, talking what Harry assumed was nonsense in her ear.

"Morning all!" he called, beaming, "I was just giving Professor Sprout here some tips on the finer points of raising some of the more exotic plants around. Now, I certainly don't want you running off with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than her! I've simply been lucky enough to encounter some of these plants on my travels..."

"Greenhouse 3 today!" Professor Sprout shouted over the top of him with a scowl.

There was a murmur of interest as they followed her further along the path to the greenhouse where some of the more dangerous plants were kept. Professor Sprout pressed the tip of her wand against the large copper lock which promptly clicked open, and just as she started ushering students inside Lockhart caught sight of him.

"Harry! I've been wanting a word – you don't mind if he's a few minutes late, do you professor?"

She clearly did mind judging by the scowl on her face, not that Lockhart seemed at all fazed by it.

"Actually," she started.

"Sorry professor," Harry said with his most earnest smile, "but I really can't afford to miss any class time, not if I want to become as great a wizard as you. I mean, vampires, sir? It's going to take a lot of effort to get close to that."

Lockhart's momentary frown turned into a full blow grin as Harry spoke, each of his pearly white teeth shining in the morning light.

"Harry, Harry, Harry. That's an excellent attitude to have – you'll go far if you keep that up. Maybe not vampires, but then, not many _can_ get to that point! Never push yourself too far, Harry. Always know your limits, even if, like mine, they're quite a way off!"

He gave Harry an enthusiastic wink before he turned and strode back towards the castle, his turquoise robes billowing in the wind.

"Peacock." Harry muttered to himself as he finally slipped into the greenhouse, and from behind him he heard Professor Sprout stifle a chuckle.

"Alright," Susan said as he took his place between her and Neville, "I kind of see your point about Lockhart."

Hannah gasped like she had committed blasphemy.

Mandrakes were awful little things, Harry decided as they trooped out of the greenhouse an hour later. They were ugly, as if a parsnip had been crossbred with a particularly unattractive person, and they for some reason had a scream that was fatal to anyone who heard it. His and Neville's had kicked and cried so much that their uniforms were now covered in dirt and sticky, disgusting tears.

He barely had a chance to shower and change before transfiguration, in which they had to turn a beetle into a button. Harry did so on his first try, and then spent the rest of the lesson trying to make the button more and more intricate. By the end he had managed to transfigure his beetle into a black metal button with silver patterns dancing across its surface. Professor McGonagall had smiled at him and shown his button to the entire class, which had brought him plenty of impressed yet jealous gazes from around the room.

After that was Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Hannah was practically squealing in excitement as they made their way towards the defence classroom.

"I wonder if he'll teach us how to use the Homorphus charm like he did against the Wagga Wagga Werewolf." Hannah gushed, "The book says its immensely complicated, but it would be cool if he showed us it."

"I doubt that its even a real spell, and even if it was he wouldn't be able to cast it. Trust me," Harry said, "this is going to be an even bigger waste of time than history with Binns."

"You don't know that." Hannah snapped before she sped up to walk several steps in front of them.

"Oh no," Harry whispered, "I think we've upset future Mrs Lockhart. We best run and hide before he finds out; he fought a werewolf in a phone box, you know. Who knows what he'd do to us."

Neville snorted and then immediately put on his most innocent smile as Hannah turned to glare at them. Susan elbowed him lightly in the side with a smile on her face and then sped up to walk with Hannah.

Harry had to resist saying "I told you so" when they entered Lockhart's classroom. There was both a magical portrait and a life size cut out of him at the front that grinned and winked at them in unison as they took their seats. _In fact, _Harry thought to himself as he and Neville practically fought Zach and Ernie for the back desk, _I think that's a couple of inches taller than real Lockhart._

Suddenly, Lockhart burst from his office like a rockstar appearing on stage and immediately pointed at his portrait.

"Me," he said, throwing his head back as he then spun to point at his cut out, "also me. Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honourary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five time winner of _Witch Weekly's _most charming smile award. But, I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling _at her!"

There were weak smiles around the room, the biggest of which was Harry's as he grinned towards where Susan and Hannah were sat at the front. Susan was gaping like a fish, but Hannah was still looking up at Lockhart adoringly. He could still see many of the girls, Granger included, following her lead as they stared at Lockhart as if he was Merlin incarnate.

"Now, I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing major, just to see how much you've read my books."

There were sounds of confusion as he handed out the papers, and once Harry received his, along with another wink, he understood why. Every single question was about Lockhart: his favourite colour, his favourite drink, his favourite flavour ice cream. Not a single question about actual defence.

Harry hadn't even bought the books, and judging by Neville's face he hadn't bothered reading them. So, he decided to turn it into a little game.

Grinning, he scrawled _Hermione Granger_ at the top of his page before he nudged Neville and motioned towards his paper. Neville looked unsure for a second before he smirked and scribbled _Ron Weasley _on his.

The next half hour was a test in Harry's ability to control himself as he and Neville wrote down the most ridiculous answers they could think of. The occasional snigger escaped them, and he could feel Susan glancing suspiciously back at them.

Eventually Lockhart brought the papers back in with a flick of his wand and immediately started rifling through them.

"Tut tut, hardly any of you remembered by favourite colour is lilac. I say so in _Year with a Yeti. _A few of you need to reread _Gadding with Ghouls. _I clearly state that my childhood dream was to bring about peace between all races and peoples – though I did also rather want to save the world. Quite the success, don't you think!"

He gave them another rogueish wink. The majority of the class were now looking at him as if he was some sort of bad dream. Some of the girls still appeared to think it was a rather good one.

"Miss Hermione Granger says that my favourite song is... Dude Looks Like a Lady by Aerosmith?"

Lockhart stopped there for a second, his gleaming smile now replaced with a frown as the class burst into laughter. Harry felt like he was going to suffocate he was laughing so hard. He did his very best to look innocent, but judging by the glares he was receiving from both Susan and Granger he wasn't pulling it off very well.

"Well I never, Miss Granger," Lockhart continued once the roar had dulled to sniggers, "Detention with me at 8 o'clock tonight – you can help me sign my fan mail. Now, Mr Ron Weasley. He says that my birthday is the 25th of December, because I'm the wizarding world's saviour… and that my greatest achievement is making the world a brighter place. Thank you, Mr Weasley. Incorrect, but 30 points to Gryffindor for a fantastic try."

Weasley had gone beet red as Dean and Seamus cried with laughter next to him. Lockhart's grin was back in full force now as he lifted a large, covered cage onto his desk as the lights dimmed. The brightest thing in the room was now Lockhart's teeth.

"Be warned! It is my job to prepare you for the very worst of creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourself facing your greatest fears in this room, but worry not. No harm will befall you while I'm here."

Despite himself, Harry had taken his head out his hand as the class leant forwards.

"I must ask you not to scream," he said lowly, "it might provoke them."

"I give you, _freshly caught Cornish pixies!"_

Again, the class burst into laughter.

"_Pixies?" _Seamus Finnigan shouted, "are you joking? Very worst of creatures my arse!"

"You think its a joke, do you?" Lockhart asked loudly, "Well then, lets see you deal with them!"

And with that he threw the door of the cage open.

It was complete and utter carnage. The pixies shot from the cage like bullets from a gun and immediately started causing havoc; Dean Thomas was yanked up by his ears and hung from the chandelier, windows were shattered as pixies flew straight through the glass to freedom, sending shards of glass flying across the room. They picked up books and ripped them to pieces, and then started hurling balls of paper at people. Seamus Finnigan was giggling to himself as he lit the balls on fire and then handed them to the queuing pixies, who then threw them at their preferred victim. The head of Lockhart's cut out had been ripped off, and the Lockhart in the portrait ran screaming out of his frame.

"Come on, they're only pixies!" Lockhart said loudly.

"If they're only pixies," Dean shouted as he dangled perilously by his robes, "why don't you put them back in their bloody cage?"

"Any more of that language and you'll be in detention with Miss Granger," Lockhart said as he rolled up his sleeves and brandished his wand, "_Peskipiksi pesternomi!"_

Nothing happened. One of the pixies pried Lockhart's wand from his hand and threw it out the window, and then Lockhart gulped.

"I'll just let you lot figure this out," he said as he sprinted into his office and slammed the door behind him to avoid the pixies that had now started dive bombing him.

Each member of the class shared a look and simultaneously decided that it wasn't their problem. There was a stampede for the door as the remaining pixies bit and clawed at them, and Harry swung the door open just as he ducked to avoid a pixie intent on biting his ear off. The little thing was knocked through the air and directly into Lavender Brown's face.

Granger glared at him as she stomped away down the corridor once they had all finally made it out. Harry smiled cheerfully back, and even treated himself to a Lockhart-esque wink that made her scowl deepen even further. Harry's grin grew. He and Neville hurried through the corridors in an attempt to escape the inevitable telling off Susan would give them, but it was not to be. She and Hannah soon caught up with them, both frowning in disapproval.

"I can't believe you two did that! Actually no, I can believe it. And Harry, you got the poor girl detention with Lockhart! At least Neville didn't sink that low."

"I didn't mean to get her detention, I just thought it would be funny. And it _was _quite funny. I saw you laughing, don't bother denying it." Harry said as he promptly stepped out of arms reach to avoid Susan's slap.

"Anyway, how did the two of you enjoy your first lesson with the legendary Gilderoy Lockhart?" Neville asked slyly.

Hannah scowled at him, and Susan gave both him and Harry a look that said they hadn't escaped their lecture.

"He's pretty useless, but I still reserve judgement on whether he's worse than Binns."

"Maybe he was just trying to give us hands on experience?" Hannah said, though even she knew it was a weak argument.

"He tried to cast a made up spell, got his wand taken off him and then ran away. _From Pixies. _You put him in front of a werewolf and he'd freeze solid."

Lessons with Lockhart didn't get any better. In fact, if anything they got worse. After the pixie fiasco, Lockhart had taken to simply reading his books to them all lesson, occasionally stopping to make some sort of self centred comment, act out a scene, or to tell them how to cast a spell that never worked and, when Hannah had insisted they look, didn't actually exist.

Between him, Snape, Malfoy, and Granger, Harry honestly hadn't been sure he could be any more irritated. How wrong he had been. There was a Gryffindor first year by the name of Colin Creevey, and he while he wasn't the only Harry Potter fanatic – Weasley's little sister came to mind – he was the only one who actually did something with his obsession beyond staring. He pestered Harry every chance he got, begging for photographs, and, once he found out they were friends, he started pestering Neville, Susan, and Hannah as well.

Harry had taken to using his invisibility cloak when he could, but poor Neville couldn't escape him. It had become a bit of a joke in Gryffindor now, and Neville and Harry had made several plans on how to make him leave them alone before they had decided they either wouldn't work or were a little too far. Susan had nearly reported them to Professor Sprout when she found them researching compulsion charms.

Luckily, he hadn't seen Colin today. If he had he might have grabbed his camera and thrown it off the astronomy tower. It was Halloween and Malfoy had been particularly enthusiastic, so even the slightest push was liable to put him over the edge. Thankfully, he and Neville had decided to simply skip the feast this year and instead wandered aimlessly through the empty corridors.

"_Kill... Kill… Kill..."_

There it was again. The voice. That was all it said. Kill. He hadn't spoken to anyone about it; they didn't seem to be able to hear it, and he doubted hearing voices was a good thing even in the magical world. He had put it down to some sort of_..._remnant of his guilt about Quirrell, even though he felt fine. He had been sure he'd dealt with it as best he could, but maybe he hadn't.

They were just wandering around the castle in silence, and no matter how many times he did it, Harry always found it odd to walk through the empty corridors and for there to be no noise at all. Hogwarts had always been loud and filled with life, bustling feet and bickering students, so for it to be so quiet felt strange. Like it had died. It felt appropriate today.

They rounded a corner on the second floor just as they heard the disant murmur of the Great Hall emptying.

"Look!" Neville said lowly as he pointed down the corridor.

Ominously, many of the torches in the corridor were unlit, but still they could see something shining on the wall, illuminated by the light of the few flickering torches that remained. The only sound was the light splashing of their feet in the water that had leaked out from the girls bathroom. Foot tall letters had been smeared onto the wall in slick red, and Harry felt a lump rise in his throat. Blood?

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.  
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE._

There was something swaying from the bracket of an empty torch. A whispered lumos illuminated the shadow, and they both jumped back with a start.

Mrs Norris, Filch's cat. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and her mouth pulled into a hiss. For several moments neither of them moved as they heard the distant rumble of feet get closer and closer. It was only students crashing into the corridor from both sides that pulled them from their horrified stupor, and then they realised just how suspicious this looked.

The happy chattering abruptly ended as soon as they caught sight of the hanging Mrs Norris, and then the grisly silence was broken by a gleeful cry.

"Enemies of the heir beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

Harry turned and saw Malfoy had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, his normally pale face flushed with excitement as he stared hungrily at Mrs Norris.

"What's going on here?" a voice shouted as someone forced their way through the gathered students.

As soon as Argus Filch burst from the crowd his eyes landed on Mrs Norris, and then he wailed in horror.

"Mrs Norris! What's happened to Mrs Norris?" he shrieked, and then his mad eyes fell on Harry.

"_You! _You killed her! You've murdered my cat! I'll kill you!"

Harry ducked below Filch's arm as he grabbed for his throat, and it was only the timely arrival of Dumbledore that stopped Harry from pulling his wand.

"Come with me, Argus," Dumbledore said as he carefully detatched Mrs Norris from the wall. "You too Mr Potter, Mr Longbottom."

"My office is nearest, Headmaster," Lockhart said eagerly, "please feel free."

"Thank you, Gilderoy."

The crowd parted to let Dumbledore lead the way through with Mrs Norris delicately cradled in his arms. Lockhart hurried after him, as did Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall, and Snape. Filch followed behind, muttering threats as he glared at Harry's back.

Once they reached Lockhart's office Harry drifted to the edge of the room and leant up against the wall to watch as Dumbledore laid Mrs Norris on the table. The air prickled as he examined her, his crooked nose barely an inch from her fur. Professors McGonagall and Sprout stood close behind, their own eyes narrowed in thought, while Filch was slumped in a chair sobbing dryly.

"Definitely a curse that killed her," Lockhart said, "Probably the Transmogrifian Torture. I've seen it many times-"

"Oh be quiet, Gilderoy." Professor Sprout snapped.

Snape's lips twitched into a smile for a second before his familiar sneer reappeared. Harry found it far more disturbing than the cat.

Eventually, Dumbledore stood up and pushed his half moon glasses back up his nose.

"She's not dead, Argus. She has been petrified, but how, I cannot say."

"Ask _him!" _Filch screeched as he pointed a shaky finger towards Harry.

"No second year could have done this." Dumbledore said firmly. "This is powerful magic, _Dark _magic-"

"He did it! He did it!" Filch continued to shout, his face starting to purple.

"I never _touched_ your cat." Harry said loudly.

"Perhaps," Snape interrupted smoothly with a sneer adorning his lips, "Potter and Longbottom were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nonetheless, the circumstances are suspicious. Why were they there at all? Why were they not at the Halloween feast?"

"Oh gee, I don't know," Harry said sarcastically, "what day is it? Forgive me if I'd rather not watch people celebrate my parents' murder."

There was a pregnant pause in the room as everyone looked towards him with various degrees of sympathy. Even Snape looked ever so slightly less hostile. Filch still looked furious.

"The two of you may go." Dumbledore said finally.

They walked out in silence, and only once they had turned the corner into the adjoining corridor did either of them speak.

"What's the Chamber of Secrets?" Neville asked.

"I was hoping you'd know," Harry said.

Neville shook his head.

"Well, look at the plus side. At least we know what the plot is now." Harry said.

Neville just looked grave at the reminder.

For the next few days, there was a constant buzz of unease around the school. People stopped walking around the castle by themselves and the Slytherins were looked at with suspicion and poorly concealed hostility from almost everyone. Even the first year snakes were being treated that way; in fact, especially the first years.

Harry thought it was completely unfair and utterly stupid to treat group them all together like that, and he thought some of the glares that older students were giving first year students were downright contemptible. After all, the hat had said that Salazar Slytherin would have liked him, and Hufflepuffs were seen as kind, naive and soft. He didn't exactly fit that description, so obviously not everyone in Slytherin would fit theirs.

Still, the glaring continued, and the Slytherins weren't the only ones on the receiving end. He too was being eyed suspiciously in corridors, and some students had even turned around and walked in the opposite direction when they saw him. Even Justin had been jumpy around him until Susan had spoken to him. Strangely, Neville wasn't glared at at all. It made no sense – he was there with him – but the general consensus seemed to be that he was worthy of suspicion but Neville was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. There had even been people saying that him being the Heir of Slytherin would explain his hatred for Granger, seemingly forgetting her general personality.

Luckily, finding out what the Chamber of Secrets was didn't take much effort at all. It was all anyone was talking about. The story went that Salazar Slytherin hated muggles and muggleborns so much that he argued with the other founders about their entrance to Hogwarts to the point that he left the school altogether. But, without the other founders knowledge, he had built a secret chamber and sealed in it a horror that only his true heir could control, and one day his heir would unleash the horror to purge the school of all those of impure blood.

That didn't make a lot of sense to Harry – if he just wanted to kill muggles he would have simply let whatever was in the chamber loose – but that was what the legend said. Unfortunately, there was no information on where the entrance to the chamber was or on what the monster was. Common sense dictated that it was a snake of some sort, but there was no species of snake that caused petrification so it was likely to be a different magical beast, or maybe it was an artefact. There was no way of knowing.

Neville and Hannah seemed to think it was Malfoy who had opened the chamber. They had argued that his family had all been in Slytherin for centuries and that historically they were certainly evil enough to be descended from Slytherin. They were baffled when Harry had disagreed with them, even despite his dislike for the little ponce.

"Being an evil bastard isn't a hereditary trait, guys. My grandmother was a Black and they're supposed to be even worse than the Malfoys. And besides, there are two key points that discount Malfoy: one, he was in the Great Hall when Mrs Norris got petrified. If she was hanging there before the feast someone would have seen her on the way there. And two, Malfoy lacks the self control to petrify a cat and not immediately start going after the muggleborn students. You saw how he looked when he saw Mrs Norris. I've never seen anyone more excited."

"And," Susan said, "if Malfoy could open the Chamber of Secrets, do you really believe he would have waited a year? He would have done it as soon as he got here and then boasted about it. Like Harry said, he lacks the self control."

Reluctantly, Neville and Hannah agreed.

Three weeks later, Harry, Susan, and Hannah came down to breakfast and immediately felt the tense atmosphere of the Great Hall tense even further. The uneasy looks that had gradually lessened since Halloween were now back in full force, only now they were almost all aimed at Harry.

"What happened?" Susan asked Neville as they slipped into their usual seats at the Hufflepuff table.

"Colin Creevey got attacked last night; Professor McGonagall told us in the common room this morning."

The three of them gasped. Hannah's hands rose to cover her mouth.

"But he's alive, right?" Susan asked.

"Yeah, he's alive. Petrified just like Mrs Norris. They found him with his camera. That's why McGonagall thinks he was out after curfew – trying to take pictures."

"Why's everyone staring at me though? Do they think I did it?" Harry asked as he glanced around at all the accusing eyes.

Neville grimaced.

"Yeah, a lot of them do. Everyone's seen Colin following you around, taking pictures of you as you come out of the bathroom and generally being a pain in your arse. After you cursed Granger last year, they don't think its a stretch to believe you'd petrify him somehow."

"That's just… that's just stupid! They really think I would do that? And even beyond that, they think that I, a second year, could do something that not even Dumbledore can reverse?"

"I know, Harry, I know," Neville soothed, "I told them that, but they still believe it."

"Wasn't Colin a muggleborn as well? Why would I be any more likely than some blood purist?"

"You're not but look, Harry, think about it from their perspective. It's much nicer to just have to watch one person than it is to have to watch everyone."

Harry scowled down at his plate as he scooped up a forkful of egg. They ate in silence just as much of the hall did, and when Harry would occasionally catch eyes with one of his watchers he glared. Probably not the smartest thing to do to remove suspicion, he knew, but he was too angry to think about it too much. Everyone knew he grew up with his muggle aunt and that his mother had been muggleborn herself; why would _he _start attacking muggleborns?

Just when he had gotten used to the stares for being the Boy-Who-Lived, they switched from filled with curiosity and even admiration to suspicion and poorly veiled hostility. God, he really did hate wizards sometimes.

He got more and more irate as the day went on, and he actually felt a sliver of offence when Lockhart picked Dean Thomas to play the yeti in his re-enactment instead of him like he had almost every other time. The announcement of a duelling club at dinner that night managed to drag people's attention off him, but only briefly. By the time he went to bed he was sure he'd scowled so much his face was stuck like that.

That weekend he, Susan, and Hannah met Neville in the entrance hall as students began to file into the Great Hall for the first meeting of the duelling club.

"Professor Flitwick used to be a duelling champion," Neville said as they walked through the doors, "so I'm sure we'll be able to learn a lot."

Harry stopped in the doorway. "Oh, I doubt that," he said.

Flitwick wasn't there. Instead, stood preening on the stage in bright purple robes, was Lockhart. Across from him was Snape, who was looking at Lockhart like he wanted nothing more than to rip his arms off.

"Gather round, gather round," Lockhart called.

Harry didn't bother listening to Lockhart's self centred drivel. Instead, he was daydreaming about the lucky accident in which they managed to kill each other. Well, maybe not kill. Maim, or at least seriously injure.

When he watched Lockhart get thrown against the wall he thought that maybe he'd gotten lucky, only to be sorely disappointed when he clambered to his feet with his quiff still in place. From the way Snape was baring his teeth Harry thought there may still be a chance.

"A very good idea, Professor Snape, to show them the effects of the disarming charm, but if you don't mind me saying, it was terribly obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you, it would have been oh so easy to do so."

Snape now looked absolutely murderous and from the way Lockhart's grin faltered it seemed, by some miracle, that he had stopped admiring himself long enough to notice.

"Yes, well," he said, his grin snapping back into place, "how about a volunteer pair? Just to see what you've all got. I haven't been here long, so I'm sure some of you may be behind where you would have been had I been here longer."

Lockhart made a show of looking at the assembled faces as Harry hid himself behind a girl he thought may share blood with a troll. Bulstrode, he thought her name was.

"Mr Malfoy," Lockhart called, "up you come. I'll allow your head of house to pick your opponent."

Harry immediately stepped back out from behind Bulstrode and stared directly at Snape. He wondered if the greasy bat would be more likely to pick him if he mouthed 'please'. Snape's eyes met his for a few seconds before he spoke.

"Weasley. On the stage."

Harry let out a breath of disappointment, and then let out out another one barely ten seconds later when Lockhart called off the duel after Weasley's first spell caused Malfoy to start spitting a stream of slugs. Those within spitting distance screamed and stumbled backwards out of range, and Weasley had his arms raised like some sort of gladiator as he grinned to raucous applause.

The one time Lockhart had actually acted like a professor, and he had to do it now? It was just getting good! Not that Malfoy spitting slugs was bad of course; it would have been nice for more to happen as well. Maybe they could have started fist fighting again. It would have been nice if Malfoy had at least got to cast a spell – Weasley looked far too pleased with himself.

Crabbe and Goyle escorted the loudly groaning Malfoy to the hospital wing as Weasley was cheered by the vast majority of students, and the cheering even increased when Snape gave him detention as if he was some sort of martyr. The rest of the session was a waste of time – Lockhart didn't actually teach them anything, just wandered round as they threw every spell they knew at each other. He seemed to avoid the older students, which Harry thought was probably because he didn't know how to do what they were doing.

It struck him as he side stepped Neville's tickling jinx that he should probably have learned how to stop spells as well as just learning new ones to cast, few of which he was willing to use on Neville. And as no one else was willing to come anywhere near him, he didn't get to use them. The most he got to use was the disarming charm, and even managed to cast it once silently. The fact that Neville still kept a hold of his wand when it hit him rendered it useless but still, it was nice to finally manage to do it.

"_Away from me… get away…"_

Harry spun around and saw a cobra with its hood flared menacingly, its fangs bared towards the terrified Terry Boot. He felt the urge to try to talk to it, but managed to squash that impulse down long enough for a silver slash of light to remove the snake's head from it's body. Another swish of Snape's wand vanished both pieces as he stalked towards Terry's duelling partner, Nott, and dragged him into the corner. Harry watched as Snape sneered down at the now pale boy, his lips twisting in what appeared to be a reprimand.

Harry forced himself to look back towards Neville and to trade harmless spells, but his mind was on other things. The voice he had been hearing in his head, that kept saying kill over and over and over again. It wasn't his guilt ridden subconscious, it was a snake! Slytherin's monster was a snake!

Finally, Lockhart called an end to the club with an exaggerated bow and everyone started filing out, some looking at their assigned duelling partners with vengeance dancing in their eyes.

"I need to speak to you." Harry whispered to Susan and Hannah as he passed, dragging Neville after him.

After a confused glance between them they followed Harry up the stairs, through previously unknown corridors and secret passages to a part of the castle none of them had ever seen. Harry yanked open the door of an abandoned classroom and led them inside, and as soon as they had crossed the threshold he pushed the door shut and cast a locking charm, a privacy charm, and then a silencing charm on it.

When he turned back around his three friends were sat facing him with furrowed brows.

"It's a snake. Slytherin's monster is a snake."

If anything, they looked even more confused now.

"Well," Susan said slowly, "that's the obvious idea, but there are no snakes that cause petrification. We've already talked about this."

"No, no, I'm _telling _you that it actually one hundred percent _is _a snake."

There were now vague hints of fear mixed amongst their confusion. That stung.

"And how do you know that?" Neville asked carefully.

"Because I can hear it."

"You can hear it? What, like hissing? Or like you can hear it slithering about in the walls? How can you hear it?"

Uncertainty played around Harry's lips as he paced, and then he stopped and cast another silencing spell on the door for good measure.

"I'm parselmouth."

Neville and Susan suddenly stiffened. Hannah gasped and scrambled backwards in terror, her chair legs scraping loudly on the floor.

"I'm not the heir." he insisted with hurt clear in his voice, "Neville was with me when the chamber was opened, so its pretty obvious that it wasn't me. I've been hearing this voice for a while now that just says kill over and over again. I assumed it was inside my head – some sort of guilt from last year, whatever, I don't know. But then I heard the cobra talking just now, and it sounds exactly the same."

"And how long have you been able to talk to snakes?" Neville asked quietly.

"All my life. I actually made friends with some when I was younger, helped keep the other kids away from their nest. I didn't tell you because the hat told me to keep it a secret – it said the gift has been slandered and that I would be criminalised for it."

"_Gift?" _Hannah spluttered out as she continued to stare at him with wide eyes. Harry could see that she was holding her wand in a shaky hand.

"If I could talk to birds, It would be called a gift. Cats, dogs, fish. Hell, even horses. If I could talk to any of those, it would called a gift. But, because its snakes I can speak to, suddenly it's evil?"

"Alright, alright," Susan said, her palms raised in an effort to calm the room, "if we know its a snake, then we should tell Dumbledore."

"Nope. Definitely not. If he finds out I'm a parselmouth he'll just think that I opened the chamber and either throw me out or throw me in prison."

"No he won't-"

"Well you three looked fucking petrified when I told you, and you're my best friends!"

Neville and Susan cringed and gave him weak, apologetic smiles, but Hannah continued to stare at him as if he were about to kill them. One of his best friends looking at him like that made Harry's stomach lurch, so he quickly dispelled his charms on the door and stormed from the room. As soon as he was out of sight he pulled his cloak from his pocket and threw it over himself and then hurried silently down the corridor.

He didn't attend history of magic, and so the next time anyone saw him was when he stalked into the Great Hall for dinner. Neville and Susan were in their usual places and smiled somewhat sadly when they saw him. Hannah was sat at the other end of the table with Justin, Zacharius, Megan and the rest of the Hufflepuff second years. She gave Harry a fearful look when he came in and then quickly looked back down at her plate.

"She'll get over it." Neville said as Harry slowly spooned food onto his plate.

Harry smiled without humour.

"No she won't. She's terrified of me, all because of that one tiny little thing."

"She will. I know Hannah, she'll come around. She's just a little naive is all, always has been. Her parents have always believed that everything is either light or it's dark, and that belief has passed onto her. All Slytherins are death eaters, all Gryffindors are noble and good, everything written in a book must be true. Trust me, it'll all end up okay."

Harry made a grunt of scepticism as he started to eat, his head resting on his hand. Throughout dinner Hannah continued to shoot trembling glances down the table at him, and it didn't take long for Harry to push his plate forwards with his appetite suddenly gone.

He went to bed that night equal parts hurt and angry, but he did allow himself a sliver of hope that Neville was right and everything would work out.

The next morning he awoke before his dormmates just as he always did, and so he took his time in the shower before he wandered into the common room. The entire room stilled. Normally he would be greeted with friendly nods, but now there were fearful stares and hushed whispers. Hostility crackled in the air. He could even see some of the older students fingering their wands.

Susan was stood wringing her hands as she waited for him at the entrance to the boys staircase. Everything from her watery eyes to slumped posture reminded him of when Dobby had admitted to stealing his letters, and Harry suddenly felt his stomach drop.

_She wouldn't have, _he thought to himself.

"Harry, I'm so sorry."

"Was it you?" he asked as coolly as he could manage.

Susan shook her head.

"Megan must have noticed the way Hannah was looking at you during dinner because she asked Hannah about it when we got back to our dorm. Hannah just blurted it out. I tried to stop her, I really did, but she said that they deserved to know who was attacking them."

Harry's face ran through a myriad of emotions, from anger to hurt to betrayal to sadness, until finally it settled on nothing at all. Silently he brushed past her and left the common room, then made for the nearest secret passageway and pulled on his invisibility cloak.

The news had already spread around Hogwarts, and as he walked unseen through the corridors it was all he heard being talked about. People were muttering in frightened whispers, some saying that they knew it was him after Colin was petrified, others saying they should tell Dumbledore to expel him. Granger was saying that he hated her because she was muggleborn and not just because she was insufferable, and people were actually agreeing.

The idea of being seen in the Great Hall wasn't an appealing one, so Harry carefully made his way up the stairs, picking his way through the scattered students as they made their way down for breakfast. Eventually he made his way to an abandoned classroom in one of the many crevices of the castle that no one seemed to ever enter, this one on the sixth floor.

A snarling slash of his wand threw the dust covered desks against the wall with a crash. Chair legs splintered and desks thudded back to the ground, and Harry sat breathing heavily against the desk at the front.

He wasn't entirely sure what it was he was feeling. Anger? Hurt? Betrayal? A mix of all three, swirling together in his stomach, ready to explode at the slightest spark? He just didn't understand it. Killing his professor was fine with her, but speaking to snakes wasn't? It was just so _stupid_. Where would the betrayal end? Would the entire school soon know about Quirrell and the stone and his invisibility cloak? Would the Prophet print a story decrying him as a murderer and calling for his prosecution?

He knew he had potions now, but instead he continued to sit there for the next two hours, simply staring at the wall. When he eventually dragged himself out of his own head and looked at his watch he saw it was nearly time for transfiguration, so he threw his invisibility cloak back on and made his way as best he could through the crowded corridors.

There was no one waiting outside the classroom when he arrived so, with a quick glance around, he pulled his cloak off and stuffed it into his pocket. He paused in the doorway, taking a deep breath and arranging his face into his most neutral expression before he slowly pushed the door open. Everyone was already in their seats, and the chattering stopped as soon as he stepped inside. Susan had sat next to Neville, probably assuming he wouldn't turn up, so that left Hannah sitting with an empty chair next to her. Harry chose to sit by himself at the very back.

The other students being scared of him he kind of got; they were children, of course they would be scared of who they thought was attacking them, even if they were wrong. What he didn't understand was McGonagall's reaction. Normally her lips would twitch into a small smile when he completed the assigned task without effort and would sometimes give him an additional task if it looked too simple for him, but today she hardly looked at him at all. He completed the task – transfiguring rabbits into slippers – within five minutes, and after that he was left alone while he did his own thing.

He tried to transfigure his rabbits into other animals, which he thought was fourth year level at least. Normally McGonagall would have hurried over as soon as she saw him trying something of such difficulty, but this time she just watched out of the corner of her eye as she walked around the classroom helping other students. By the time the bell rang he had managed to turn his rabbit into a pretty passable kitten, even if its ears were still a little too big and it still hopped around on his desk instead of walked, and McGonagall hadn't come within three feet of his desk even once.

He stayed in his seat while the rest of the class filed out, all of them giving him a wide berth. He sighed. Susan and Neville waited for him as he snatched up his things and took a final look at his still hopping kitten.

"You okay?" Susan asked once they emerged into the corridor.

Harry shrugged but smiled weakly at them.

"Snape was an even bigger bastard today than usual, especially when you didn't turn up."

"He hates it when I turn up and hates it when I don't. Just can't win, can I?"

"Oh come on Harry, cheer up. When have you cared what everyone else thinks of you?"

"I don't. You think that's what's bothering me? I couldn't care less what the Ravenclaw fourth years or the Gryffindor seventh years think of me. What bothers me is that I got betrayed by one of my best friends not even twelve hours after I trusted her with something, and that she genuinely thinks I'm capable of wanton murder."

Susan glared at Neville over Harry's head as they made their way towards the charms classroom.

If Harry had thought that the suspicion that most harboured against him would fade over the following days as it had done before he was sorely mistaken. Stares and whispers followed him everywhere he went, and as the attack on Colin Creevey fell further and further into the past people started to grow braver. Where before people would edge past him in corridors or turn around altogether, now some students would clatter shoulders as they went past. Harry was half tempted to hiss at them in Parseltongue to see how fast they ran away.

That was another thing that got to him. No one had even _seen _him speak Parseltongue, but yet the mere rumour that he could had turned him into public enemy number one. Granted, he hadn't denied it, but still. Even the professors seemed to believe it; McGonagall and Flitwick no longer smiled or compared him to his parents, Lockhart no longer dragged him up to the front to pretend to be a banshee or some other creature from his story books.

Snape in particular seemed to relish the treatment Harry was getting and delighted in taking even more points than he usually did, knowing that no one would care. The only one who behaved broadly the same as they had before was Professor Sprout, and even then he couldn't be sure whether it was out of some sort of loyalty to her house or whether she genuinely believed it wasn't him.

Hufflepuff was a strange one. On one hand, they were loyal and fiercely protective of their own, and he was one of them. On the other, most of them believed that he was the Heir of Slytherin. Harry didn't understand how they could believe it after watching him interact quite happily with muggleborns in the common room since he started, but he tried not to let it get to him. He still had Neville and Susan, even if Hannah had betrayed him and had avoided him to the very best of her ability ever since. Besides, he thought it less to do with him than the human condition itself. Like Neville had said, the constant fear of attack was much lighter when there was someone you could watch than when there was a nameless, faceless bogeyman waiting in the shadows for the chance to strike, even if deep down you knew it wasn't them. Knowing that didn't make it sting any less though.

Spending time in the hallways or the common room or even his own dorm now felt awkward at best and threatening at worst, so he spent most of his time in the only place the whispers couldn't follow him: the library. He would sit at a secluded table in the corner, and then anyone who tried to follow would feel the full weight of Madam Pince's glare. Few were brave enough to keep going after that.

Susan and Neville would often join him, but not always. He wasn't actually sure where they were when they didn't, but he did wonder if they still spoke to Hannah when we wasn't around. He couldn't fault them if they did – the three of them had been friends for years – but that didn't mean it didn't piss him off a little. What would they even talk about? _Hannah would probably beg them to get away from the big bad __H__eir of Slytherin_, Harry thought bitterly.

Thankfully, he would be going home for the Christmas holidays in a few days. Maybe he'd get lucky and there would be an attack when he wasn't around, thereby proving it wasn't him. He doubted it though – the Heir would have to be a bit thick considering how much it would thin the suspect pool. Still, he was just happy he would soon be escaping the freak show for a little while.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"How was school?" Aunt Petunia asked as they drove home from Kings Cross.

"Oh, yeah, it was good." Harry replied without moving his gaze from the white lines on the tarmac that blurred together as they sped down the motorway, "I'm getting quite a long way ahead of everyone else now. This magic stuff is easy."

"Your mother used to complain that it was all too easy as well."

"She did?" Harry asked as his head raised to look at his aunt.

"Oh yes," she said fondly, "sometimes she would make our parents take her to Diagon Alley as part of her Christmas present so she could buy more books. She always insisted I came; I used to get a little annoyed about it then, thinking I had so many better things to do than visit magic shops when I wouldn't be able to cast any of the spells in any of the books. I thought that she was trying to rub it in, but actually she was just trying to include me. I probably should have known that Lily wouldn't deliberately rub my face in something that she knew upset me. Once she got older she liked to go there herself when she could, and then she would come back with huge great books that looked like they were hundreds of years old. She'd sit down at the dinner table and pour over them for hours and hours. Our mother would complain it was making her table dirty."

Harry laughed. He supposed that all those books were now in his family vault in Gringotts. He'd have to look through them the next time he got a chance now that he was a bit more advanced in his magic.

"And you're sure everything at Hogwarts is okay? Nothing important happened?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia, everything has been fine. Just an ordinary term at magic school." he said with a grin even as his stomach squirmed violently.

When they arrived home Harry could hear Dudley shouting from outside, and if Aunt Petunia hadn't looked so resigned to the noise he would have worried that his cousin was in pain. Dudley didn't even look up when the door clicked open, and it was only when Harry slumped onto the sofa next to him that he even realised they had arrived home.

"Sorry guys," Dudley said into his headset, "got to go. Harry just got back."

Harry had enough time to see that the scoreboard on the screen said 3-0 before Dudley switched the TV off. That explained the shouting.

"How was Hogwarts, oh wise wizard?" Dudley asked, grinning, "Jack and Mason say hi, by the way."

"Oh you know, same old same old. Bit easy if I'm honest. I reckon I must be the next Merlin," he said with a shrug of fake arrogance, "pro clubs?"

"Pro clubs." Dudley nodded. "Hang on a second, the _next _Merlin? You're saying Merlin existed? Old guy with a stupid beard, King Arthur's personal wizard?"

"Apparently."

"Wicked."

Harry almost thought he'd heard Aunt Petunia chuckle as she called them into the kitchen to help set up for dinner, but he decided he must have imagined it. Aunt Petunia didn't chuckle.

"What about the plot that Dobby talked about?" Dudley asked after dinner as he kicked the door to Harry's bedroom closed.

"Nothing. Completely normal term. I did tell you it was just a prank or something."

"Yeah, well, its only Christmas isn't it? Got a while yet for something to happen."

"Nothing's going to happen, trust me. Anyway, wanna see a few spells? Just the cooler ones, otherwise we'd be here all night. Like I said, next Merlin."

Dudley nodded enthusiastically.

There were some spells that Harry couldn't show him, like the disarming charm or the reductor curse, but other than that he could cast what he wanted. He transfigured a long forgotten hairbrush into a hedgehog that pottered around the room, an eraser into a tiny little dragon that roared and flapped its wings menacingly, and a pencil into a long yellow snake who hissed contentedly while Harry scratched the underside of its head.

"I can speak to snakes, remember," Harry said as Dudley pushed himself back against the wall, "This one's having the time of it's life."

Once he had dropped the snake out of his window under commands not to bite anyone, he showed off a few more spells and finished off by turning Dudley's hair bright pink and his shirt a disgusting shade of green.

Dudley seemed to rather enjoy all of the spells, even those that made him look like an idiot. Well, all except the dancing charm that Harry had previously thought was useless. It was more than worth learning it just to see Dudley line dance into the wall.

This Christmas there were no mysterious gifts from friends of his father. In fact, from the magical world he only received two. Hannah hadn't sent him anything, and he hadn't bothered to send what he had bought her. Susan sent him what appeared to be the magical world's version of a handheld computer game. It was black and rectangular, with dots of colour that dashed around the face and changed direction when he touched them. She knew how bored he got sometimes so this was much appreciated; he had no idea how it worked, but he'd ask her on the train.

Neville had given him a framed black and white picture of a large group of men in uniform that reminded Harry of a team photo. The only hint that the picture was even magical was the falling rain and the bare branches of trees he could see swaying in the background – each of the men was completely motionless.

_Gran managed to find this. It's of the British regiment of the ICW forces in 1944, not long before Grindelwald's defeat. My grandad is in the third row, second from the left. Yours is in the first row, right in the middle. You wouldn't be able to miss him even if you didn't look like him.  
Happy Christmas,  
Neville._

Harry's eyes immediately scanned the photo and sure enough, sat proudly front and centre, was him. Neville was right; they looked almost exactly the same. The same hair, the same jaw, the same nose. Harry was a touch slighter than his grandfather had been, but other than they could have been twins.

"Who's that?" his aunt asked as she peered over his shoulder, "your grandfather?"

Harry nodded. "Neville says he was a war hero."

"You look as much like him as you do your father."

Harry grinned up at her.

"I guess us Potters just have strong genes."

The rest of the break proceeded as normally as one could expect in a house with a twelve year old wizard, and when he boarded the train back to Hogwarts he was much happier than he had been before the Christmas. It had been a much needed break from the insanity of the wizarding world, and who knew, maybe the student population had had enough time to realise how stupid it was to believe that _he _was the Heir of Slytherin when he had just gone home to spend Christmas with his muggle family.

Unfortunately, they hadn't.

He was being watched with suspicion from the moment he walked onto the platform, and it was the same story when he got on the train. Blinds would zip closed as he walked past compartments and he was followed all the way down the train by the Weasley's pompous brother. He didn't see Neville or Susan in any of the compartments, so he shrugged to himself and made himself comfy in an empty one.

Neville and Susan didn't appear until long after the train had left the dingy apartment blocks of London. Harry raised an eyebrow as he greeted them.

"Sorry, we were trying to convince Hannah how stupid she's being. Didn't work; seems she told her parents about it over the holidays and they agreed with her. Zach even accused us of hating muggleborns because we're still friends with you."

Harry resisted the urge to tell them not to bother.

"I'm assuming you talked to your families about it too. What did they say?"

Neville and Susan shared a look.

"They were… surprised that you're a parselmouth. They did say that historically most parselmouths were dark, but that it certainly didn't mean you were the Heir of Slytherin."

"What, because the Boy-Who-Lived can't _possibly _be dark?" he asked bitterly, "that hasn't seemed to help at Hogwarts."

"No," Susan said with the air of reprimanding a small child, "because Auntie knows that I'd never be friends with someone like that."

Harry blushed as his scowl became a little less pronounced.

"Exploding snap?"

**~Scene Change~**

Harry had quietly cursed his luck when he left the Great Hall after the feast without any announcement from Dumbledore. Unfortunately, it seemed there had been no attacks over the Christmas holidays, which people seemed to consider evidence against him somehow. In the few weeks since term restarted everything had been just as it had been before he had gone home – fear, whispers and hostility.

Neville was in potions while the Hufflepuffs had a free period, so at first he and Susan had gone to the library. She had an essay to do for transfiguration which he had already done instead of watching Lockhart prance around pretending to fight banshees, so he had tried to help her with it. He wasn't entirely sure whether his way of explaining it had annoyed her or whether it was just the fact that she didn't understand it and he did, but either way she had ended up quickly ushering him out so she could do it herself.

That left him with a bit of a dilemma. He could sit in the library and read books by himself - not an awful option but not exactly much fun either – or he could go to the common room and do pretty much the same thing, except there he'd get watched by seventh years while they fingered at their wands. The other, much more attractive option was to go to an unused classroom and practise his spells. A much better idea; he could try and get the banishing charm down again after struggling with it for the better part of a week. The actual spell wasn't difficult, the problem was that he just couldn't seem to get the right amount of power into it. At this point he had become a bit fed up of whatever he banished moving at three and a half times the speed of sound.

He just wished he had somewhere he could go and practise his spells undisturbed that wasn't a dusty old classroom, but it would do for now. He walked through the corridors towards a secret passageway that led to his usual place on the fifth floor, imagining the ways he could take the old classroom and make it his when out of the very corner of his eye he saw a slight shimmer in the air, and then a flash of deep blue.

Nothing happened. It was as if someone had just shined a torch into his eyes for a split second and then turned it off again. Confused, he turned around to look at where the light had come from and felt his foot slide out from under him. His confusion only grew when he looked down.

A cleanly cut piece of his robe was sliding around with his foot on top of it, and he could see an identical piece of his shirt next to it. The bare skin of his stomach was now exposed where his clothing had been sheared off and, more to the point, that bare skin was bleeding. There was a thin line that reached from the edge of his front and round just below his ribs, breaking briefly on his flank only to continue a few inches later. He tried to turn his body to see where on his back it ended, but he found that he couldn't. His torso refused to twist. Why would that happen?

He could feel his heart pounding faster and faster, but that was all he could feel. There was no pain. It was surreal, as if a strange sense of detachment had come over him as he watched the line slowly become redder as tiny trickles of blood collected on its edge. He wondered why the cut had briefly stopped on his side, and he cocked his head slightly as he looked down at the lone patch of unmarked skin. It was only then that he noticed the river of blood that clung to his hand before it fell in a torrent onto the floor, forming a pool around his foot. Weirdly, he could see blood spurting out of the outside of his arm as well, painting a thin line several metres long on the floor of the corridor. He wasn't sure why it would do that.

Slowly, he lifted his arm to get a better look. That action alone made him feel lightheaded for some reason. The arm of his robe was soaked with blood, and there was a slash in it on the outside of his arm a few centimetres below his elbow through which blood was shooting as if from a water pistol. Each time it did so it seemed to reach a little less across the floor.

He frowned. What had happened? His skin felt very cold and looked very pale. He couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs and his legs felt weak, and the previous lightheadedness had got much worse. What the hell was going on? Suddenly, his legs gave out and he collapsed onto the floor, leaning against the wall. He blinked as his vision became more and more blurry, still very confused about what was going on. He couldn't feel any pain, he just felt tired. The black spots in his vision stretched and merged together until they were all he could see, and the last thing he heard before he passed out was a soft pop.

**~Scene Change~**

His throat cracked when he woke up, and he struggled to push himself up in the bed to reach for the glass of water stood on the bedside table, only to immediately regret it as pain lanced around his side. Glancing around, he recognised the white floors, white curtains and white walls of the hospital wing. It was just as it had been after Quirrell, and his body unconsciously tensed at the reminder. Unsurprisingly, the table laden with sweets and cards was absent.

The curtains around his 'room' were suddenly pulled open and Madam Pomfrey walked in clutching a clipboard.

"How are you feeling, Mr Potter?" she asked softly.

Harry was surprised; here was a member of the Hogwarts staff that wasn't treating him like he was trying his best to kill muggleborns. How kind.

"Stiff."

"Yes, well you would be. I managed to heal you up but not even magical medicine is instant, unfortunately. That cutting curse cut deep into your muscle on your side and severed the artery in your arm; it takes a while for everything to knit back together. It's lucky Tippy got you to me when she did – a few minutes more and you might have been in a coma, or worse."

"Tippy?" Harry asked as he looked away from the thin, raised pink line that ran across his arm.

"The house elf that found you. She brought you up here, brought me all the potions I needed and gave them to you when I asked her to."

"How did she find me? No one ever goes down that corridor."

"House elves live far, far longer than humans, Mr Potter, and those at Hogwarts live even longer than most due to the amount of magic in the air. I think I'm right in saying that the oldest house elf at Hogwarts is nearly four hundred, even if he can barely move at this point. I doubt there's much about Hogwarts that the house elves don't know about.

"Which, Mr Potter, is very lucky in your case. Tippy knew exactly which potions I would need and had them here before I'd even asked, and then stayed to help while I treated you. Injuries like that normally take more than one person to treat simply because there's so much that needs doing. The bleeding needs to be stopped while blood is also replenished so you don't get worse," she explained as she cast several charms over him, "and then nerves and muscle needs to be mended quickly so you don't lose feeling or movement. The thing about magical injuries is that they are always worse than if the same injury was inflicted non magically. Magic from the curse likes to interfere while we try and heal you.

"Anyway," she said, looking down at her clipboard and casting a few more spells over him as she did so, "everything seems to be in order. The stiffness will remain for a few days, but other than that you should have no problems. Once you've gotten changed you may leave; it will be nice not to have Miss Bones and Mr Longbottom banging on my door asking to see you."

Once Madam Pomfrey had left and the curtains had been pushed shut Harry forced himself out of bed to get changed into his uniform. He hissed in discomfort each time he was forced to twist or bend, and after he had eventually dressed himself he grabbed his wand holster from the bedside table. The pale purple scales faded from view once he'd strapped it to his forearm with the same shimmer he had seen in the corridor before he was cursed.

Neville and Susan were half way up the stairs when he pushed the doors of the hospital wing open and the two of them rushed up the last few steps when they saw him. Susan pulled him a hug so hard he wondered if his insides would be forced out of his mouth while Neville hung back with a concerned frown. Harry grimaced as he awkwardly hugged Susan back.

"You okay, Harry?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, a bit sore is all. I did get sliced open."

Susan jumped back as if she had been burned with an apology already forming on her lips.

"It's fine; it hurt more just putting my shirt on. How long have I been out?"

"Just over two days." Neville answered, "Dumbledore said at dinner that night you'd been attacked–"

"And let me guess, a lot of people were very relieved when they heard I was unconscious."

Susan and Neville cringed as they nodded.

"I assume no one got attacked while I was in there?"

"Nope. I've heard some people saying that proves you're the Heir, of course ignoring the fact that we haven't had one since before Christmas anyway."

"Yeah well, people are stupid. I was hoping I'd get lucky though."

Neither Susan nor Neville looked particularly supportive of that sentiment, but after being attacked in the corridors neither could deny that it wouldn't have been a bad thing as far as he was concerned.

"Did you see who did it?" Neville asked gravely as they made their way back down the steps.

"No, they were invisible. I saw a shimmer so it's not a cloak – mine doesn't do that – so it must be a spell. I'm not sure what the spell is but it's the same as on my holster."

"The disillusionment charm," Susan said, "I think it gets taught in fifth year."

"So someone at least three years older than me cursed me and then left me to die over a rumour?"

"Fucking coward." Neville spat.

Harry wasn't sure he'd ever seen Neville so riled up.

People did a double take as they passed them in the corridors and they hurried off, whether out of fear or in order to tell everyone that the Heir of Slytherin was back he wasn't sure.

"What time is it?" Harry asked, "do we have a lesson now?"

"Defence."

"Right. I was going to say we'll have to get my bag first but in that case I won't bother."

Neville laughed but Susan just smiled weakly.

"How close was it?" she asked in a small voice, as if she didn't really want to know the answer.

Harry looked at her for a few moments as he tried to decide whether to lie or not. He settled on telling the truth.

"Pomfrey said a few minutes."

Her face crumpled in on itself for a second as if she was on the verge of tears before she forced her expression to rearrange itself. They walked the rest of the way to the defence classroom in silence, and once they arrived there was a collective gasp from the students already present that quickly devolved into whispers.

Harry ignored the frightened chattering as he pulled out his usual seat while Neville did the same next to him, but just as Neville was about to sit down Susan elbowed him out of the way and pointed insistently towards the empty space next to Weasley. Neville pleaded silently with her for a few seconds before he picked up his bag and trudged over to Weasley's desk, glancing mournfully back at them. Susan slipped into Neville's usual seat like nothing had happened and started pulling her books and parchment out of her bag while Harry exchanged a look with Neville.

"_I'll tell you later." _Neville mouthed just as Lockhart appeared.

As it happened, Neville didn't get a chance. Susan never let him out of her sight for the rest of the day or for the days after. If he went to the bathroom she waited outside, if he had a free period she would follow him and she partnered with him in every class regardless of whether or not he usually partnered with Neville. The first chance he and Neville got to speak without her listening was four days later, when Susan miscalculated her water intake and was forced to go to the bathroom during lunch.

"She blames herself for what happened," Neville said as soon as she was out of sight, "she thinks that if she hadn't got frustrated and made you leave the library you wouldn't have got attacked."

"Yes I would, they just would have had to wait a bit longer. That corridor is on the way to the old classroom I always use to practise, and it's a corridor that literally no one ever uses. There's nothing down there but abandoned classrooms and bathrooms that don't even have running water. They must have followed me up there. Sue blaming herself for that is stupid. It's more my fault than hers – I should have been using my cloak."

"Yeah well, you try to make her believe that. You know how protective she is. She worries a lot too, always has done. Her aunt was an on duty auror until a few years ago, so she spent a lot of her childhood worrying that one day she wouldn't come home."

"How long do you reckon until she'll let me out of her sight?"

"Oh, I doubt she'll want to until the actual heir gets caught. But after the trouble filled couple years you've had, maybe even longer than that. And Harry, I know you like having time to yourself, but for the time being please just indulge her for a little while – she looked like she was about to be sick when Dumbledore said you were in the hospital wing."

Harry made a face but nodded nonetheless.

"Alright, but if it goes on for too long I reserve the right to start using my clo– did I miss anything in classes while I was in the hospital wing?" he asked as he saw Susan approaching.

Neville's eyes darted towards Susan before he gave a lazy shrug.

"Course not, I bet you can do everything they're teaching us in class anyway. Bloody annoying, that is."

"I'm so sorry my brilliance offends you, Nev." he said sarcastically.

"Come on Harry, we've got history of magic. Let's go. We'll see you later, Neville."

Harry grimaced at Neville and raised his hands up to his head in a sleeping gesture as Susan pulled him from his seat.

**~Scene Change~**

"What the hell are we doing?" Susan asked later that day as she and Harry wandered through corridors and passageways that she had previously never seen.

"Exploring. Normally when I do this it's at night under my cloak, but considering you opted not to partake in nap time earlier," he said, smirking, "I figured we'd have to do it now."

"And why, exactly, are we exploring?"

"Are you joking? This is a thousand year old _magical castle. _I know plenty of passageways but I can guarantee there's a whole load more I don't, and I can also guarantee that Hogwarts holds a lot more secrets than a single chamber. I've heard people in portraits talk about other portraits that I've never seen and corridors I haven't been able to find," Harry said animatedly, "and there's some statues or bits of wall that I'm telling you are special somehow. I bet there's secret rooms all over the place – this is a castle, it must have an armoury and workshops and stuff like that. Ritual rooms, the ward room, alchemy chambers. Maybe there's a place where wands were made, before Diagon Alley even existed. They had to get them somewhere, didn't they? I just don't understand how you could literally _live _in a place like Hogwarts and not want to find out all the secrets it's hiding. So, I figured as you don't seem to want to let me out of your sight I'd at least show you some interesting stuff."

"Harry,"

"I know, I know, you think me getting attacked is your fault. They were waiting for me, Sue. All that would have happened if I'd stayed is that they would have had to wait a little longer."

Susan clearly didn't agree, though she didn't bother arguing with him either. The two of them were both stubborn enough to argue for hours. Harry nodded to himself as they turned into a strangely dark corridor, but in his enthusiasm he didn't take much notice.

"Alright, there's a portrait over on the third floor I want you to meet. I can't find the corridor he describes, and he says that there's no connection to anything at either end – its just a straight line – so there must be a hidden passageway to get there. He says it's really dusty there for some reason as well, which is weird. Do the house elves not clean it? Do they even know about it? And why make a hidden corridor if there's not something cool there? But first, I want to show you a statue near the defence classroom. You know the witch with one eye? I think-"

He was cut off as he tripped over something on the floor and tumbled head over heels. Susan lit her wand as he clambered to his feet and gasped loudly. Harry gasped too, only he wasn't looking at the same thing she was.

Nearly Headless Nick was floating in the middle of the corridor, no longer glowing with pearly translucence but now blackened and smoking as he swayed in the draft from an open window. What the hell kind of snake could petrify a ghost? Was that even possible?

He glanced over his shoulder at Susan, expecting her to be staring at Nick. Instead, she was looking down at the floor with wide eyes, and the light of her wand was dancing across the walls as her hand shook. When Harry looked down he wasn't entirely sure what reaction appeared on his face, but he was sure that if someone were to happen across them now it honestly couldn't look much worse.

Granger was laid frozen on the floor, her wand still clutched in her hand and her face contorted in utter terror.

Peeves, Hogwarts resident poltergeist, suddenly appeared from behind them, cackling as he clutched water balloons to his chest. The balloons tumbled from his arms and burst against the floor, and he opened his mouth wide as he filled his lungs.

"Peeves!" Harry shouted as he made a show of checking Granger's pulse, "quickly, get help. Go! Get a bloody professor!"

Peeves darted back the way he came, shouting and screaming, and bare seconds later students came sprinting into the corridor. For a few moments there was silence, and then yells started echoing around the corridor until Harry felt like his ears were going to explode.

"Potter's killed her!" a voice in the crowd shouted.

"She's still alive you idiot! I was the one who told Peeves to get a professor."

"Just covering your tracks, you snivelling little shit," an older Gryffindor student sneered.

"If I'd wanted to cover my tracks I'd have shoved her in a cupboard and made sure she was found when I had a rock solid alibi, not when I'm crouching over her body. Do me a favour and start using your brain."

Before the bone headed boy could respond Professor McGonagall hurried into the corridor with Professors Flitwick and Sinistra at her heels. Sinistra levitated Granger and carefully floated her through the crowd towards the hospital wing, while Flitwick conjured a large fan and wafted Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs.

"All of you, to your common rooms immediately. Mr Potter," she said curtly, her lips drawn in a thin line, "follow me. Not you, Miss Bones. To your common room."

"He didn't do it. I was with him when we found her and I've barely let him out of my sight ever since he got out of the hospital wing after someone tried to kill him, and you _still _have no idea who that was. I'm coming."

McGonagall's nostrils flared.

"To your common room, Miss Bones."

Susan glowered at the professor for a few seconds before she turned and stormed down the corridor. McGonagall huffed as she marched him through the now empty corridors until they reached a statue of an ugly looking gargoyle.

"Sherbet lemon," she said.

This was evidently the password because the gargoyle sprung to the side as the wall behind it split in two. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was slowly spinning upwards like a muggle escalator, and Harry heard the wall thud closed behind him as he stopped onto it. They rose silently upwards until the stairs stopped at an oaken door with a bronze knocker in the shape of a screeching griffin.

The door swung open when McGonagall rapped the knocker and they stepped inside, and then she left him there alone. Harry supposed this was Dumbledore's office, and it was exactly as he would have expected it to be. The first hints of moonlight streamed in through windows and skylights, glinting off of delicate silver instruments that let out puffs of multicoloured smoke. Behind the enormous claw footed desk the walls were covered in portraits of snoozing headmasters and shelves upon shelves of tomes and even scrolls, and sat atop a high shelf was the sorting hat, peering down at him.

"Mr Potter," the hat said, "I thought I told you not to tell anyone of your gift?"

"I thought I could trust them. I won't make the same mistake again."

The hat looked sad, if dirty old leather could give such an expression.

A flash of flame from the empty perch next to Dumbledore's desk pulled his attention from the hat, and Harry turned to look at the scarlet bird that had appeared, it's gold beak raised proudly. He had no idea Dumbledore had a phoenix!

"You're very handsome," he said as he approached. The bird preened.

"Oh don't tell him that," Dumbledore said from behind him, "his ego will get even larger."

The phoenix looked affronted as it glared at Dumbledore who chuckled as he fell into his chair, for once truly looking his age.

"I joke, old friend. His name is Fawkes, and he has been my most loyal companion for over seventy years. Come Harry, sit."

"I didn't petrify Granger, Headmaster," he insisted as he sat down in front of the desk

"I know you didn't, and I wouldn't have thought you did even if Miss Bones hadn't been so insistent when I passed her in the corridor. I stand by what I said when Mrs Norris was attacked: no second year could do such a thing, not even one who dabbles in more advanced magics when he gets bored in class," Dumbledore said with a hint of amusement. "And her name is Hermione, Harry, in case you have forgotten. A rather good student; rarely have I seen such a brilliant academic."

"Doesn't mean she's a good witch though," Harry shot back.

"No, it doesn't, but she may still be. You're not yet two years into your magical education. Just because you are ahead doesn't necessarily mean everyone else is behind. But we have gotten off topic: the attack. Did you see or hear anything when you stumbled upon Miss Granger? A shadow on the wall as someone ran from the scene perhaps, or even the scuffling of shoes?"

"No, sir. All the torches in the corridor were out and we didn't hear anything either."

"You're sure?"

"Yes sir."

Dumbledore sighed as he removed his half moon glasses and rubbed at his eyes.

"As you have unfortunately become rather involved in this affair, I will tell you what we know. Which is to say, I will tell you nothing. Any theories that I had as to how the petrifications happened have now gone up in smoke because such spells would not have caused damage to Sir Nicholas."

"Its a snake, sir. I don't know what kind because no known species causes petrification, so my theory is that Slytherin somehow bred it himself. I hear it sometimes."

"And what does it say?" Dumbledore said, suddenly leaning forwards.

"Kill. That's all it says, over and over and over again. Kind of ironic considering no one has actually died. The only person who even came close in this whole thing was me!"

The headmaster cringed.

"Unfortunately we know just as little about your attacker as we do about Miss Granger's. Few would be foolish enough to admit it to anyone, and as they were disillusioned there is no witness. There is no hope of analysing spell residue in a place such as Hogwarts either. I fear the perpetrator will get away with it unscathed."

Harry heard himself growl at the thought.

"They better hope they do..."

"Fear does funny things to people, Harry, but so does anger. Don't sink to the level of those who attack children."

Harry looked blankly up at Dumbledore for a few moments.

"Is that all, Headmaster?"

"Yes Harry, you may return to your common room. You have given me much to think about."

Harry left with a final stroke of Fawkes' plumage as Dumbledore rested his chin on steepled fingers.

A snake? It certainly made sense given that Salazar Slytherin had been a parselmouth, but as Harry had said no know species of snake caused petrification. His theory wasn't a bad one – a wizard of Salazar Slytherin's calibre could almost certainly have created his own species of animal – but it didn't help him much. How could he defend against a threat that he knew nothing about? He just wished that Myrtle would tell him what she had seen, but even after all these years she stubbornly refused. Maybe he'd have yet another go at trying to convince her.

Harry was deep in thought as the staircase slowly spiralled down. What _would _he do if he found out who cursed him? Honestly, he wasn't sure. An ultimately harmless hex in the corridor or getting them in a bit of trouble was fine, but that wouldn't cut it for this. He'd like to think he wouldn't "sink to their level" and do something that bordered on cruel, but deep down there was a whispering that maybe he would. They had left him in a corridor to die; they would deserve anything that he did to them. It would be _fair._

The rumbling of the wall as it split apart pulled him back to the present and he pushed all the thoughts that were buzzing around in his head into the recesses of his mind before he stepped past the gargoyle. His wand was clutched between his fingers while his eyes scanned the corridors as he made his way towards the basement, looking for a flash of light or the faint shimmer of a disillusionment charm. Someone had already tried to eliminate the perceived threat once, and the mutual dislike between him and Hermione Granger was well known throughout Hogwarts. To the people of Hogwarts her being attacked would be the final proof that he was the Heir of Slytherin. If he wasn't careful it could very well be the final nail in his coffin too.

Once he reached the Hufflepuff common room he let himself breathe again, even if the looks he received were now even darker than they had been before. Susan waved him over as soon as he stepped through the door, and he noticed that as he moved towards that side of the room everyone else seemed to move to the other. Hannah looked as pale as a ghost, huddled in amongst the older students. Harry almost laughed.

"What happened? Where did she take you?"

Harry looked around at all the straining ears and cast a quick privacy charm before he sat down.

"Dumbledore's office. He knows I didn't do it but he wanted to know if I saw anything, which obviously we didn't. I told him that it was snake and about my theory that Slytherin made it himself – I'm not sure if he agreed with it or not – after he told me all his theories had been proven false because they wouldn't have affected a ghost."

"Is that all? Did he say anything about who attacked you?" Susan asked.

Harry's fingers curled slightly on the table. "Just that he didn't think we'd ever find out who did it."

Susan looked incensed.

"What do you mean we'll never find out? So they'll just get away with it then? They nearly killed you and they'll get away with it?"

"Looks that way."

If anything Susan appeared to be even angrier at the prospect than he was. She was muttering to herself scathingly, and Harry heard her say "well what's the point in them then?" before she pushed herself from her chair.

"I'll see you in the morning, Harry. I'll meet you down here then we'll go to breakfast. Goodnight."

Harry wasn't entirely sure why she was so upset as she stormed down the stairs to the girls dormitories, and he really couldn't gather up the energy to try to work it out. Looking around, he snorted morbidly at the fear he could see dancing in the eyes of his housemates, twitching in their fingers. Before there had been a minority that were still cordial if not friendly to him, but now that minority seemed to have evaporated.

Some of them startled when he stood up and only relaxed once he had disappeared down the steps to the dorms. Ernie, Zacharias and Justin were already sat on their beds when he entered, and he ignored the way Justin yanked the curtains around his bed closed in panic. A month ago that would have bothered him, but he now realise that it didn't matter. If they wanted to be scared of him that was their problem, and he knew that as soon as the true Heir was revealed they would want to be all buddy buddy again. People were fickle.

He grabbed his pyjamas from his bed as he wandered into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. As he got changed he paused to examine his scar in the mirror. It still amazed him that he felt more now as he gently ran a finger down the thin pink line than he had felt when it had been a cut over an inch deep.

When he pulled closed the pale yellow curtains around his bed he was very thankful for the charms that they held. They prevented the curtains being opened from the outside, and Harry wondered whether he would have been attacked in his sleep without them. Like Dumbledore had said, fear does funny things to people.

Susan was waiting for him in the common room the next morning and they hurried out in an effort to escape the hostile scrutiny they were under. The corridors were mostly empty as they made their way to breakfast and made a brief yet blissful respite from feeling eyes prickling into his skin. Unfortunately, there were still plenty of people in the Great Hall to shatter that comfort. He heard a voice from the Ravenclaw table compare him to Voldemort, and it was only Susan's hand pulling him forwards that stopped him from throwing curses.

"Morning," Neville chirped sarcastically as they took their seats at the Hufflepuff table.

"Morning," Harry muttered.

"Heard the two of you were the ones that found Granger last night."

"Yeah, Harry literally tripped over her in the dark. I'm guessing that everyone says that proves Harry's the Heir of Slytherin."

"And you'd be right, in Gryffindor anyway. By the looks of it everywhere else as well."

"And I'm also guessing that's why the Gryffindors are all glaring at you. For fraternising with the enemy?"

"Right again, Miss Bones. They've all suddenly decided they like Hermione now that she's been attacked. Of course, the fact most of them called her a beaver behind her back and otherwise made fun of her has been conveniently forgotten. What were you even doing there anyway?"

"Exploring," Susan said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, "Harry here has a particular interest in the history of Hogwarts."

"Ironic considering he sleeps through history of magic."

"It's not my fault Binns could make the creation of the universe sound as boring as paint drying," Harry argued as he continued to glare at a Ravenclaw boy, "and it's not even the history, even if that is cool. I just want to find all the secrets."

Susan and Neville started bickering between them while Harry glanced around the hall. Frankly, he expected more people to be looking at him, but clearly the attack must have reminded them of how dangerous the Heir of Slytherin was, and as they thought that was him they were going out of their way to not even look in his direction. Some of the Slytherins didn't seem to care and went about their business as usual – either they didn't think it was him or thought their blood status made them safe – and others were grinning openly at the news. Malfoy seemed absolutely overjoyed.

There were still glares of course, but mostly from older students in an attempt to intimidate him. Most backed down as soon he looked in their direction for longer than a second, for others it took a raised eyebrow before they would hurriedly look towards their plates. Harry found it amusing in a twisted sort of way.

His nonchalant bravado was nothing more than an act though. In truth, he was terrified that someone would again try to remove what they believed was the threat: him. It made him angry that he was scared, but not enough to overpower the fear that bubbled when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He'd need to do something to make him feel less vulnerable, otherwise he might turn into some wimp who jumped at his own shadow.

"Sue," he said, "what do we have today?"

"Double history, a free before lunch, defence and then transfiguration last. Are you incapable of memorising your own timetable?"

"I don't remember my timetable because my brain is too filled with knowledge," he snarked, "therefore, it shouldn't matter if I miss a few useless classes."

"What? Where are you going?" she asked as she stood up, clearly about to follow.

"Back to bed. I'm getting really tired of all this shit, I need a day off. Would you like to come with me there too?" he said, wiggling his eyebrows like he had seen men do on TV.

Susan blushed crimson and sat straight back down while Neville burst out laughing. Susan slapped his arm as he managed to reign himself in to the occasional snigger.

"Fine, but you better still be here at lunch-"

"I was going to just go to the kitchens."

"-and in transfiguration. At least that's not a waste of time."

"It is when McGonagall refuses to talk to or even look at me. Not much teaching going on in my case."

"You don't need her to teach you. You just do it faster than everyone else anyway."

"Awww, thanks!" Harry said with an obnoxious smile, "I'll see the two of you at dinner."

Before Susan could respond he had walked off with a cheery wave over his shoulder.

"Merlin, I hate that boy," she huffed as she speared a sausage with her fork.

"You can't keep him in your sight at all times, you know," Neville said.

"I wasn't trying to!"

"Yes, you were. He's always going to be in at least a little bit of danger simply because he's Harry Potter – are you going to be doing this when he's thirty? Waiting outside the bathroom for him to come out in case someone attacked him when he was in there? He's not like you or me, he can't be with people all the time. He has to go off and have time to himself. It won't take long for him to get fed up if you carry on like this."

"But-"

"There's no buts in this situation, Sue. We coddle him and he's going to get pissed off. We've just get to treat him like a normal kid who isn't famous and doesn't have danger constantly circling him like vultures, and we've got to try not to worry about him too much because, based on the last two years, we're going to have heart attacks before we even graduate if we do."

Harry hurried down to the basement and threw his bag onto his bed once he reached his now empty dormitory. Quickly, he yanked the curtains round his bed closed and sat on his pillows as he started to pull some of his books out of his bag.

It sucked that he was having to practise his spellwork in what effectively amounted to a particularly comfortable cage just so that he could feel safe while he did so. He was a second year; he didn't know enough locking spells or wards that would make an old classroom secure enough that a fifth year couldn't get in if they wanted to, never mind a seventh year. It was clear that he could be followed too, and though he would certainly try he wasn't sure even his cloak would prevent that.

However, the same did not apply to his bed. Professor Sprout had told them when they first arrived that only the Hogwarts Headmaster would ever be able to break the charms that were tied into the curtains. He just wished he had some more space, but even despite all his late night exploration he hadn't found anything of the sort. He'd only been at it a year and a half in fairness, it wasn't like he'd been here for centuries. He wasn't a-

Hang on.

"Tippy?" he said tentatively, feeling a bit stupid talking to thin air.

There was a loud pop and then, stood on the bed in front of him, a house elf appeared. His first thought was to compare her to Dobby, and initially he thought them quite similar. They had the same bat like ears and the same great bulging eyes, even if Tippy's were brown instead of green. They had the same pointed nose, the same colour skin and the same bald head. The more Harry looked though, the less he saw the resemblance. Tippy was stood happily in a clean uniform where Dobby had wrung his hands against a stained pillowcase, her eyes were brighter and her back was straighter. And while she still had the same air of servitude about her, it was less… as much as Harry hated to say it, less pathetic.

"Hows can Tippy help?" she squeaked.

"First of all, I want to thank you for saving my life," he said as Tippy blushed, "and second, I was wondering if you knew of somewhere I could practise my magic where no one could find me."

Tippy spent several moments deep in thought before she seemed to think of something, and then immediately disappeared. Harry barely had time to be disappointed before she was back, hopping from foot to foot in excitement.

"The Come and Go Room! Come, come, Tipsy will show you!"

"Right then," Harry said as he pulled the curtains of the bed open and jumped out, "lead the way."

Instead of hopping to the floor like he expected her to, Tipsy grabbed a hold of his arm. Everything went dark for a split second during which Harry had the very intense feeling of being forced through a space he shouldn't be able to fit before he appeared, weak-kneed, in an empty corridor. What the hell was _that?_

Harry dragged in a few deep breaths before he allowed himself to look away from the floor and saw a tapestry of a wizard trying to teach trolls ballet. He recognised that tapestry; it was on the seventh floor in a rarely used corridor on the left hand side. There was nothing here, although the way Tippy was jumping up and down with a huge smile on her face seemed to contradict that.

"Zelie says that you must walk three times by this wall thinking about what you want, and the room shall appear fully equipped for the seeker's needs!" she said excitedly.

Harry wondered whether all elves had strange names or whether there were some that had the same names as people. He was suddenly struck with the image of a house elf somewhere called Geoff, but he forced the thought from his mind as he began to pace along the wall.

"_I need a safe place to learn to protect myself, I need a safe place to learn to protect myself, I need a safe place to learn to protect myself..."_

He had his eyes closed, and his first indication it had worked was Tippy's excited squeal. When he opened his eyes and turned to look at the previously blank wall there was now a small door, just about big enough for him to walk through without ducking. He grinned.

"Thank you, Tippy, for this and, again, for saving my life." Again, Tippy blushed. "I just have a couple more questions for you, if that's okay?

Tippy nodded enthusiastically.

"Have you ever heard of a corridor that doesn't connect to anything? Just a straight corridor with nothing but a few portraits in it? And do you know anything, anything at all, about the Chamber of Secrets?"

Tippy slowly shook her head before she popped away again, except this time for a lot longer. Harry was about to give up on waiting and go through the door when she reappeared with a pop.

"We knows nothing of a lone corridor," she said with the beginnings of tears in her eyes, looking absolutely heartbroken that she'd disappointed him, "but we knows that this is not the first time the Chamber of Secrets has been opened. It was opened over fifty years ago. Two students were killed and another was expelled."

"Who? Who was expelled?"

"Mr Hagrid."

_What?_

"Thank you, Tippy. You've been really helpful." he said distractedly.

She was still frowning to herself slightly when she popped away, but Harry barely noticed. He stood stock still as he thought about what she had said. _Hagrid _was the Heir of Slytherin? No, definitely not. If he was he certainly wouldn't still be at Hogwarts. He may not particularly trust Dumbledore, but if the Headmaster thought there was even a chance that Hagrid had opened the chamber he would have made damn sure that he never stepped foot in Hogwarts again. So, if Hagrid didn't do it, who did? Voldemort? That would have been around the time Voldemort must have been at Hogwarts, and he had always claimed that he was the Heir of Slytherin. He'd have to speak to Hagrid and ask. Harry now regretted not accepting his invitation to have tea with him back in first year – it would make asking a lot easier.

A rough plan of action forming in his head, Harry turned and pushed open the door. The very tips of his hair brushed against the door frame as he entered the room, and as soon as he did so the door vanished to leave a plain stone wall. Each of the other three walls that made up the square room were filled floor to ceiling with bookcases so tall he wouldn't even be able to reach the top shelves, each crammed with books and tomes. They were split into sections and then sub sections, all divided by silver labels. Other than that the room was bare but for a single desk and chair.

_Not exactly what I was thinking of, _Harry thought to himself, _I was hoping-_

The room started changing before he even finished his thought. The far wall split down the centre and spun outwards to join with the bookshelves on either side to form a long, book lined corridor that opened into a grey stone room. This room was much wider than the first, bare but for a row of faceless people who stood against the wall, each with a wand grasped in their hand, and person shaped targets that were painted on the left hand wall.

He could change the room just by thinking about it? Harry thought the word cool was the understatement of the century.

Slowly, he wandered back into the other room and started inspecting the shelves. He found himself amazed by the sheer breadth of knowledge. There were countless books on topics from divination to wand lore. Many of them looked to be school books for some reason, but even still. He could probably spend years in here and still not learn everything. One shelf in particular seemed to be pulsating with a gentle glow, it's silver label now engraved with gold.

_Defence_

He ran his fingers along the spines, dragging out those that caught his fancy and piling them on the desk. A few about shield charms, several on defensive transfiguration, one about duelling technique, another about avoiding fights entirely by evading detection. There were a couple of books about something he had never heard of called occlumency, so he pulled out an old, leather bound book and added it to his pile. It might be useful.

He started with one on defensive transfiguration only to put it down after barely ten minutes. Mainly, the defensive transfiguration the books spoke of was made up of conjuration, which he didn't yet know how to do. He'd have to learn how as a priority, because from what this book said it was the most important aspect of any defence beyond shield spells and, most importantly, physical movement. Before he could conjure at will, however, his ability in defensive transfiguration was severely limited.

Next was the book about avoiding detection, which again he put down quite quickly. With his cloak he could ignore parts about hiding himself visually for now, and many of the rest were variants on the silencing charm. He already knew the base version, and the more specialised versions that only silenced certain sounds or over certain distances seemed a bit unnecessary.

As he already knew how to cast _Protego, _the most commonly used and most wide ranging shield charm, he opted to leave those books for the time being and picked up the book on occlumency.

The cover was leather and its title, _The Mind Arts,_ was stamped across the top in simple black lettering. The rest was covered by a pair of scarily realistic eyes that seemed to stare into his no matter where he looked or where he moved his head. He quickly pulled it open simply so they wouldn't look at him anymore.

He had expected glossy white pages filled with fancy bordering and beautiful illustrations just like most other books he had read in the magical world. Instead, the pages were yellowed and filled with neat, sloping handwriting.

_Occlumency is, in simple terms, the art of defending one's mind from external intrusion by a Legilimens. It is a great deal more complicated than that of course, as many things in Magic are, but that is it's essence. Legilimency is it's sister art – the art of intruding on someone else's mind, and is also significantly more difficult. Both of these skills are ancient and virtually unknown to the majority of the population, and such ignorance is not by coincidence but by the design._

_As you can imagine, knowing what an opponent is thinking, feeling, planning, is of immense use in any situation, be it combat, politics, or even a simple game of chess. As such, those in power have sought to keep the Mind Arts in the dark and, when snippets do occasionally reach the ears of the common wizard, discredit them. When the commoners demand to be taught this skill, the little instruction that is released to sate their appetite is sub par or outright false._

_I was once a daughter of a powerful family and I was taught these skills during my childhood. I had a natural aptitude for the Mind Arts, and I recognised ways that I found quickened the process of learning them. When I married the man I love instead of becoming a breeding mule for a man of a wealthy family I was disowned by my parents and thus, I am now one of the commoners they so despise. I taught the Mind Arts to my husband and our children, and then to our friends and extended family. Now, I will teach them to you. My son has been given several copies of this book to discreetly hand out at Hogwarts, and others have been carefully spread around the wizarding world. Most will be found and eventually destroyed I am sure, but until then they will be of use._

_I will teach you how to raise barriers and shields around your mind, how to wall off certain memories so completely you may forget them yourself, how to organise your knowledge so you can recall it faster, how to control and temper your emotions. To do so you will become intimately familiar with your own mind and, as a result, your magic. Spells will come easier to you and will be quicker to cast, and you may even be able to 'feel' those cast by others. _

_But first, you must learn the most fundamental defence against Legilimency: do not look a Legilimens in the eyes. The saying that the eyes are windows to the soul was first said by a master of the Mind Arts. Even the most skilled Legilimens requires eye contact and, without it,a the skill is useless._

Harry ate up the pages even as he simultaneously blanched and grinned at the idea of being able to read someone else's mind. Who knew how to do it? Who had already done it to him? Was that why Dumbledore had that unnatural twinkling in his eyes? To make people look into them so he could read their thoughts?

The book said that making his mind impenetrable would be a task that would require a great deal of time, dedication, and patience, and that before he could even start doing so he had to become acutely aware of his own mind and of his magic. He would have to meditate until he could feel every single rushing river of thought that flowed through his mind, every emotion that bubbled in the background and every memory that had turned him into the person he was. It would be uncomfortable, but once he had done that the book said that he would be able to raise barriers that none would be able to break.

Light glinted off the face of his watch as he turned yet another page, and a quick glance told him he was already fifteen minutes late to dinner. Hurriedly he slipped the occlumency book into his bag as the others on the desk returned to their proper places, and then he threw his cloak over him as he looked towards the empty wall.

He wished for the door to reappear, only this time for it to come out somewhere different. When he poked his head out he did not see dancing trolls, but instead a single suit of armour. He recognised the corridor as one on the second floor. This was fantastic! No one could lie in wait for him now even if they did manage to follow him. He wondered whether it could take him to the lone corridor, only to be disappointed when the door still opened into the same second floor corridor.

Harry hurried invisibly through the empty corridors towards the Great Hall. He paused in an alcove a little way down the corridor and glanced around before he pulled his cloak off and stuffed it back into his bag, and then he made his way through into the hall for dinner.

Susan was fidgeting in her seat as Neville looked to be trying to calm her down, and when she saw him her anxious expression abruptly switched to furious.

"Where the hellhave you been?" she hissed as he sat down.

"When I woke up I decided I'd go practise for a bit, and obviously I can't really do that in my bed." he said defensively.

"So you went back to your old classroom then, through the _exact _corridor you nearly died? How stupid can you be?"

"No, I went to a different one, and next time I'll go to another one and another one the time after that. I was under my cloak and even then, no one can ambush me when even I don't know where I'm going. I don't think that's very _stupid._"

Neville elbowed Susan hard in the side before she could respond.

"Have fun then?" he asked a little too cheerfully, "I can guarantee you had more than us."

"Yeah," Harry said, still frowning, "wasn't bad. I tried to perfect my casting on a few more spells; eventually I want to do them all silently. Casting silently is far quicker than saying the incantation, at least from the few I can do. And its your own fault you had such a boring day – you knew that Lockhart and Binns would be a waste of time but you still chose to turn up."

With that he started spooning food onto his plate as Susan did the same. She must have been too busy obsessing over where he was to start eating before. Her worrying was going to get old really quick if this kept up, but hopefully she would stop acting like a mother hen soon. He was pretty sure Neville would have a talk with her if needed, and judging by the glances between them he already had. Maybe another one would be required.

Guilt squirmed in his chest at lying to them about the Come and Go Room, especially at the ease with which he did so. They could learn so much in there, and they were his friends. Chances were they would follow him into danger a few more times in the future – him telling them about it could one day quite literally save their lives.

He pushed the guilt away and carried on eating. Hannah had taught him something when she betrayed him: never tell anyone anything that they can hurt you with.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The next evening Harry led Susan and Neville across the grounds towards Hagrid's hut. He had told them after dinner the night before that he had overheard a Slytherin student saying how Hagrid had been expelled for opening the chamber, and like him they didn't believe it for a second. Neville seemed to think that Hagrid was part giant as well, so he certainly wouldn't be a blood supremacist. Upon learning that such a union was actually possible Harry had gagged – the image that had forced its way to the front of his mind was downright disturbing. He couldn't imagine how that would even work.

"Follow my lead," Harry said as he rapped on the door of the hut.

Loud, booming barks echoed through the ajar window as Neville and Susan shared a look.

"Out the way Fang, yeh dozy dog," a gruff voice said before the door was yanked open.

Harry peered up at him with his most earnest smile.

"Hello Hagrid," he said softly, "can we come in for a bit? If you're not busy that is, we don't want to interrupt."

Unlike most people, Hagrid didn't seem the least bit put out at three virtual strangers popping round for a chat. In fact, his face lit up like a child at Christmas.

"Course yeh not interrupting. Come in, all three of yeh. I'll put some tea on."

The house was made up of a single circular room, criss crossed with shimmering lines of what looked like hair from which hams, pheasants, and chickens hung. A huge bed was pushed up against the wall next to a fireplace in which a copper kettle boiled, and across from that was a large wooden table that Hagrid gestured to with a wave of a plate sized hand.

"Sit down, sit down. Won't be a mo," he said as he grabbed the now squealing kettle.

A few seconds later three steaming mugs were placed in front of them as Hagrid set a plate of fruitcake down in the centre of the table.

"What's brought the three of yeh to me hut then?" Hagrid asked.

Susan opened her mouth to speak before Harry kicked her under the table.

"My parents," he started, ignoring Susan's glare and Neville's confused expression, "You said that you knew them, and, this is going to sound really stupid, that's why I avoided coming to see you up until now. Sorry. In my head they're… they're perfect. Not a single fault. Everything my aunt has told about my mum have been good things - that she was beautiful and smart and kind and absolutely brilliant at magic. And my dad was too, and he was quidditch captain and.. I just… I didn't want to risk hearing anything that would break that image I had in my head. Now, I just want to hear more."

Hagrid dabbed at his eyes with the edge of his moleskin coat as he grinned down at Harry.

"That's alrigh'," he said, "nothin to be sorry for. Yeh needn't have worried though, 'arry. Yer parents were some of the finest people I ever had the pleasure of meeting. Didn't see much of yer mother until she got a little older, a bit more adventurous, but yer dad? Saw plenty of him, I did. Right troublemaker he was, all his friends too.

"I remember the first time I met him; the four of em were scurrying around the Forbidden Forest one night in their first year, and they came afoul of a couple of centaurs. Lovely bunch, the centaurs are, but not after you've turned their coats pink," Hagrid chuckled, "so, they come running out, yelling their little heads off..."

Harry listened with rapt attention as Hagrid told tales of his father until the sun had long since disappeared, both he and Hagrid seeming to forget either Susan or Neville were even there. All these stories were from his first year! Just how much trouble had his dad got into? Asking about his parents had initially been a way to gain Hagrid's trust before he asked about the Chamber of Secrets, but now he was wondering why this hadn't been his main reason for coming. The chamber could wait a little longer, surely?

"An' that's not even a fraction of all the trouble yer father got himself into! Only got worse as he got older too – he could do more magic, so his pranks got even more complicated. Sometimes he and his friends would come to me asking for help. Maybe they needed somethin they couldn't get in Hogsmeade, or they needed somethin from the forest but they couldn' find it. They were never cruel, so I thought what's the harm," Hagrid said with a wink and a wide smile, "They'd have found a way without me anyway. Used to drive yer mother spare. Well, it did until she started joining in anyway. But those are stories for another night," he said with a glance towards the clock, "its nearly curfew. The three of yeh best get going."

"Thank you, Hagrid. Is it alright if I come round some other time to hear some more?"

Hagrid smiled from ear to ear.

"More than alrigh', no problem at all. I held yeh in the hospital when yeh were born, back when yeh were small enough to fit in me hand. So proud, yer parents were. Least I can do for James and Lily is tell yeh a few stories."

Harry grinned with genuine happiness before he turned to leave, and he only stopped when he heard Neville clear his throat.

"Hagrid, can I ask you something else?" he asked.

"Course yeh can, but make it quick mind. Yeh don't want to be caught sneaking back after curfew."

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before hasn't it? And the person who did it blamed it on you?"

All the happiness that had glowed on Hagrid's cheeks for the past few hours drained away and his eyes got a haunted, glazed look to them. He looked like a frightened child.

"Please, Hagrid," Susan pleaded, "Everyone thinks its Harry, and look what happened! Someone nearly killed him over it! I know you would have told Dumbledore everything, but the three of us found both Mrs Norris and Hermione Granger. Maybe it will jog a memory or something, or maybe we might even think of something that Dumbledore didn't. Just… please. The only way we can make Harry safe is if we prove it's not him, and the only way we can do that is by finding who's really doing it."

The glazed look in Hagrid's eyes faded to be replaced by terrified resolution as he looked towards Harry and then, slowly, he started to speak.

"It was awful, back then. I was in me third year, an' everyone was scared to death. Wasn' until after Christmas that the writing appeared on the wall, sayin' that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Nothin had happened yet, so people thought it was jus' a sick joke at first. Some little twerp wantin to scare people. But then people's pets started goin missing – cats, toads, owls. Not long after that a boy was found dead," Hagrid continued gruffly, "right at the bottom of the stairs. Dippet told everyone that he had slipped and broke his neck on the way down. I didn' believe it, lot of folks did though. Nicer than thinking they've been murdered I spose.

"An' then a girl was killed, an Dippet couldn' hide that one. There was talk of Hogwarts closing until they found whoever was doin' it, and that was when Tom Riddle told em it was me. Got me expelled, me wand snapped," he growled with a small glance towards his umbrella for some reason, "an' if it wasn' for Professor Dumbledore I'da ended up in Azkaban. He stood up for me, managed to convince them to let me stay here as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore. Great man."

"Who is Tom Riddle? Why did he blame you?" Harry asked.

"Tom Riddle was a nasty piece of work, he was," Hagrid said darkly. "Oh, he acted like he wasn', but he was. Very clever, very handsome, very very good wizard, but he had that feel about him. He was rotten to the very core, I'm tellin' yeh. Had his own little group of hangers on in Slytherin, an' a lot of em ended up Death Eaters. That's the type of person he was, an' I'm willing to bet he joined up as well. Riddle blamed the attacks on Aragog, but Aragog wouldn' hurt no one! Not ever!"

Hagrid was clearly getting quite upset, his face now red and his fingers gripping his mug hard enough that it had started to crack. Harry almost wanted to leave now to spare him having to speak anymore; this Tom Riddle was what they had needed to know. They didn't need to know who Aragog was, not really. But he still asked.

"He's an acromantula. Gravely misunderstood species acromantula are," Hagrid said defensively, "nothin' like what you think. I raised him up from an egg. He'd never hurt anyone!"

"Alright, Hagrid, we believe you. Thank you for telling us," Neville said.

Hagrid swiped a huge wand through the air as he scratched the drooling Fang with the other.

"S'alrigh', now off with yeh. It's curfew in a few minutes."

The three of them hurried out and across the grounds towards the great doors of the castle that were slowly swinging shut.

"You reckon this Tom Riddle is Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"Might be," Susan said in reply, "but Riddle isn't a pureblood name, at least not a prominent one. I can ask Auntie to check but I don't think it will be, and I doubt a muggleborn or halfblood is going to campaign for the superiority of purebloods. More likely that he was a Death Eater like Hagrid said and that he framed Hagrid under orders from whoever You-Know-Who was when he was at Hogwarts. Still, it's worth looking into."

"Nev?"

"I dunno, but what Susan said sounds pretty reasonable. I'm just wondering about Hagrid – if he had a pet acromantula when he was in third year, what the hell has he got now?"

**~Scene Change~**

With a huff of irritation Harry pushed himself up from the floor of the Come and Go Room for the fourth time today, sending yet another glare at the semi circle of wooden people that each had their wands pointed at him.

He had known that _Protego _wasn't the only shielding charm, but he had had no idea how many of them there actually were. There were over a dozen, and those were just the ones in the books he had read! It wasn't like he could just learn a couple of them and be done with it, because each one had their own unique vulnerabilities. Some were vulnerable to soul magic, others to blood magic, others to certain kinds of charms. The reason that _Protego _was the main shield charm taught at Hogwarts was because it had one of the widest spell ranges and was pretty simple to cast, but it was also unfortunately one of the weakest.

The book devolved into complex arithmancy to explain why certain spells could pass through different shields unaffected, but it all came down to the fact that no shield could stop every spell. Some came fairly close, one of which he'd managed to learn, but none could stop all of them. There was only one surefire way to stop a spell, which was by diverting it. Again, the book had explained why it always worked using arithmancy that Harry wished he was advanced enough to understand, but the why wasn't important beyond his own interest.

Unfortunately, diverting spells was much easier said than done. This was the third successive day he had tried, and in all of those hours he had managed to deflect just four hexes. It pissed him off. He was used to spells coming easily to him, but this wasn't a spell. It was simply using your magic to swat away incoming curses, and to do that all his proficiency at spell casting meant precisely fuck all. It required instinctive precision and lightning quick reactions, and he'd never had much reason to develop either of those two skills.

The dummies stepped back against the wall as he stalked out and into the room's library. That was quite enough stinging hexes to be hit with for one day, so it was time to try and learn some more spells. As time went on more and more sections of the bookcase had started to glow instead of just defence. Now sections on offensive magic, charms, enchanting, and transfiguration all looked at him invitingly each time he arrived. It had made deciding what to study far more difficult.

He had recently been delving more into offensive spells, and he doubted they were the sort that people like Dumbledore would approve of. There unfortunately weren't many books that went beyond what he would find in the library, but the few there was were more than enough for him. For now, anyway. In the future he'd have to get some more somehow. Some of the descriptions of their effects made him shiver, so for the time being he was limiting himself to the less gruesome but no less dangerous spells. He knew that he would learn the rest eventually; if so many people were willing to attack him he needed to know all the spells he could.

Thankfully, these spells came to him just as easily as others. It certainly wasn't first try, but he didn't have to toil over a single spell for weeks like he was sure most people had to. He was hoping to cast this one – a variant of the cutting curse that had been combined with a nasty sounding withering curse – before he had to go to his last class of the day in a few hours: charms. Harry frowned at the thought of being forced to leave the Come and Go room, but he wasn't arrogant enough to think that he couldn't learn in his classes, even if the content they were doing was, frankly, below him.

Many of the professors were among the best in the world in their respective fields – Flitwick, McGonagall, Vector, Babbling, Sprout, Sinistra, and, as much as he hated to admit it, Snape all had masteries and were highly sought after for various research papers and magical experiments. It would foolish to not attend their lessons, even if all he picked up for now was the little pointers he heard them tell other students that could only be discovered by decades and decades of experience. He wasn't going to risk damaging those relationships when he could learn so much from them in the time between now and his graduation.

There were of course professors that didn't fit that description and from whom he could learn nothing, so he simply didn't go to their lessons and spent the time in the Come and Go room instead. Susan had been most unhappy with that decision and had even threatened to start following him again to try and force him to go. He had told her that she could certainly try. A look from Neville made her back off, but even he wasn't supportive of missing lessons. He did have the sense not to lecture him about it though. When it came to Lockhart and Binns they didn't really have a leg to stand on anyway.

Harry was sure that Lockhart must be heartbroken at no longer getting to see him, but he doubted Binns would even notice his absence. Hopefully the two of them would be gone soon anyway. Maybe he'd ask the Heir how he had managed to kill Sir Nicholas when he finally found him, assuming that was what had happened.

Annoyingly, they were no closer to finding out who the Heir was now than they had been when the chamber was first opened. Even after nearly a month of searching the name Tom Riddle had told them very little, and none of it had any value. Riddle had been head boy, had been given a special award for services to the school, assumedly for framing Hagrid, and both his OWL and NEWT scores were among the highest ever recorded. That was all they had managed to find.

Harry didn't think that a wizard as brilliant as that would ever bow in servitude to anyone, but his theory that Tom Riddle was Voldemort had been shattered when Madam Bones had confirmed that there was not and had never been a pureblood family by the name Riddle, and so they were back at square one. Riddle was just a flunky that the true heir – in all probability Voldemort – had used to shift the blame onto Hagrid.

Eventually a bell clung softly and Harry watched in fascination as the books flew back into their places and the plain stone wall blurred for a split second as the door formed. He didn't think he'd ever get over the sheer magic of the room. He paused briefly to throw his cloak over himself and silence his feet before he emerged and made his way through the corridors towards the charms classroom.

He was already late by the time he reached the third floor, and he quickly glanced around the empty corridor before he pulled his cloak off and stuffed it into his bag. When he pushed the classroom door open the majority of students were already there and, as expected, all heads snapped towards the latecomer. Neville, Susan, and Hannah all seemed to be absent.

_Probably got caught up trying to convert her, _Harry thought bitingly.

It was strange for them to be late, but certainly not unheard of. What was the stranger was the looks he was being given by the gathered students. They were all terrified, as he had long since come to expect, except now for some reason he got the feeling it wasn't aimed at him. One or two even looked vaguely remorseful behind their fearful expression, but before he had time to think on it any further Professor Flitwick came hurrying up to him.

"Follow me, Mr Potter," he said and promptly led the way back out the classroom.

It wasn't like Flitwick to leave his students unattended, and Harry couldn't think of anything that would earn him a telling off. Was it because he was late? Or maybe because he stopped going to history and defence? Everyone knew how useless those two classes were – not going hardly merited a telling off, especially such a delayed one. Even if it did, it certainly wouldn't be deserving of a conversation with Dumbledore, he thought to himself as he followed Flitwick towards the headmasters office.

When they walked straight past the gargoyle, however, he looked at Flitwick's back in confusion. If not Dumbledore's office, where were they going? The only other thing down this way was the-

No. _That _hadn't happened.

But the more he thought, the more sure he became. Neville, Susan, and Hannah weren't in the charms classroom when he arrived. They were all friends. If one was attacked the other two would likely want to be with them. He prayed it was Hannah, but his traitorous mind taunted him. If it was Hannah the stares of the other students would have been even more accusing, not as if they were trying to apologise for suspecting him.

By the time he came out of his trance they were already at the hospital wing doors, and he was sure he could smell the sterile air as it crept under the door.

"This will be a bit of a-" Professor Flitwick started in a gentle voice.

"Neville or Susan?"

Flitwick looked startled for a second before he flicked his wand, smiling sadly. The doors creaked open and Harry saw Madam Pomfrey stood at the foot of a bed as she cast various spells, but the rest was obscured by the now familiar white curtains. Harry walked stiffly across the room and pushed the curtain back with a sweep of his arm.

"Susan," he breathed.

She was laid on the bed with one leg frozen in front of the other in mid stride, her eyes glassy and utterly still. Neville and Hannah sat huddled next to the bed, both holding Susan's right hand, while the other was being clutched by an older woman, her red hair streaked with grey. Harry supposed this must be Amelia Bones. Every time Susan had spoken about her aunt it had been with a sort of awe, as if she were completely indomitable. A force to be reckoned with, Susan had called her. Now she just looked crushed.

All sets of eyes rose when he entered, not that Harry really noticed. His fingers were twitching and he could feel pressure building in his forehead. He was furious. Neville was staring at him, at the way his eyes seemed to burn like wildfire and the way distortions in the air leapt between his fingers. He could literally _feel _how angry he was.

"Where?" he ground out.

"A corridor on the fourth floor."

Neville had tried to spare him the fact, but Harry knew. There was only one reason she would have been there; she had been looking for him. With tremendous effort he slammed his rudimentary occlumency shields down and tried to clear his mind, just as he had done every night ever since he found the book. It was no use; the best he could manage was to dull the roars to mere shouts, but it would have to do. He wanted revenge, and to get it he needed to think.

To the occupants of the room, he seemed to fall into a daze even as he continued to stare down at Susan's frozen face. Occasionally a muscle would tense or his blank expression would twist into something hateful for a split second, and then as quick as it had come it would disappear again. He stayed that way for several minutes, and Madam Pomfrey was moments away from casting a diagnostic charm before he let out a short, serpentine hiss and stalked from the room.

Neville ran after him after a shared glance with Hannah; they knew that look.

"Harry!" he shouted as he caught up, "Where are you going?"

Harry didn't even slow down as he made his way through the corridors in furious strides. Neville was assaulted by a feeling of déjà vu as he struggled to keep up. He just hoped this time worked out better than the last.

"To find who did it."

"We've been trying for months, and we've found nothing! How are you going to suddenly find them now?"

Harry whirled around, his eyes narrowed to slits.

"What, would you prefer I just sit and watch her lay there while the fucker who did it carries on breathing? Let him do it again? Maybe next time he'll kill someone. We're long overdue a death, don't you think? You heard Hagrid – this thing is well capable of killing. It's a wonder no one has died yet. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not! But we don't know who did it, Harry. We've tried to find out and we failed."

"Oh, but I was so stupid!" Harry raged, seeming to forget Neville was even there, "So downright fucking stupid! We've been acting like muggles Neville! Records, records, records. That's all we ever checked! We never asked anybody except Hagrid and a house elf!"

"So? The only other person here fifty years ago was Dumbledore, and clearly he has no idea either." Neville said, ignoring the mention of a house elf. Harry must have asked one on a whim.

Harry's face contorted into something between a smile and a snarl before he turned and continued down the wall. Neville shivered.

"Not true. Like I said, we were acting like muggles. It's time to go chat with a ghost."

Neville simply followed after Harry as he swept through the castle in search of one of the house ghosts, and it didn't take long for them to stumble across the Fat Friar in the basement as he hummed a solemn tune to himself. Harry looked ready to start interrogating him the moment they saw the Friar's spectral form, but Neville's hand on his shoulder stopped him before he could. Harry started at the touch but managed to control himself, if only just.

"Excuse me, Friar?" Neville called.

The ghost slowly turned to look at them and then drifted towards them, and once he got closer Neville was sure he could see silver tears on his face.

"Yes, child," the Friar said softly.

"I don't know if you've heard, but a student-"

"Yes, I heard. One of my badgers." he said sadly as he looked towards Harry. "You are her friends, are you not? My sympathies."

Harry nodded stiffly.

"We were wondering if you knew anything about the last time the chamber was opened that could help us? About fifty years ago?"

The Friar seemed to age, if such a thing was possible.

"Oh no, I'm afraid not. We couldn't help then either. None of us saw anything, and those that inhabited the castle fifty years ago have long since left it. Most of them anyway. Professor Dumbledore and young Mr Hagrid of course still remain, as does Miss Warren. Poor thing. I fear that until the monster is defeated she may never move on."

"The girl who was killed is still here? As a ghost? And no one ever thought to maybe, I don't know, ask her who killed her?" Harry spat incredulously.

The Friar looked about to say something before Harry stormed off down the corridor.

"Thank you, Friar." Neville said quickly before he dashed away to follow.

When he managed to catch up to Harry he was muttering to himself scathingly.

"Fucking Dumbledore. No way that old bastard didn't think to just ask the damn ghost what killed her. He must know exactly what's doing it. Maybe that's why no one's died – he's making sure they're only petrified. He's lucky that he got kicked out. We're going to be having words if he comes back, let me tell you. Going to curse the stupid beard off his face."

"Er, Harry, where are we going?"

"Girls bathroom on the second floor."

"Moaning Myrtle." Neville said, having heard people complain about her enough to know that was her usual haunt.

Harry nodded but otherwise just carried on walking, instead opting to use the time to try and force more and more of his anger to the back of his mind, and slowly but surely the voices were becoming quieter. Not quiet enough, though.

It didn't take them long to reach Myrtle's bathroom, right next to where they had found Mrs Norris. Even after all these months the thick red letters still gleamed threateningly on the wall. Harry glared at no one in particular; it had been right in front of them the whole damn time!

A loud bang shattered the eerie silence when Harry shoved the bathroom door open, and Neville quickly closed and locked it behind them while Harry looked around the room. It was just how Susan had described it to them once; water trickled from overflowing sinks, cubicle doors hung on by a single hinge and there were a whole array of books, shirts, cloaks and bags strewn across the flooded floor. The light that shone from the ceiling had a strange green quality to it, and sat peering out at them from the end cubicle was Myrtle.

"Boys!" she gasped as she pointed an ethereal finger at them.

"Hello Myrtle," Neville said, "could we ask you a question?"

Myrtle eyed them suspiciously through thick glasses before she shrugged and flew from her stall to perch on one of the sinks, her arms crossed as she looked down at them with interest.

"I suppose so. No one ever comes in here, it's so very lonely. No one wants to talk to poor Moaning Myrtle! You two are the first in ages, and you're not even allowed in here! I'd have to tell someone if you weren't so cute," she said with a wink towards each of them.

"We were wondering," Neville continued with a slight blush, "how did you die?"

Neither Neville nor Harry were expecting her to be excited to tell them, but after fifty years they had thought she at least wouldn't mind. Both the Fat Friar and Sir Nicholas were usually all too happy to tell the tale of their own deaths, even if in Nicholas's case it was just so that he could insult the executioner. Instead, Myrtle's face twisted into a hateful glare.

"Did Dumbledore send you?" she spat.

"No, the old man most certainly did not send us." Harry said, finally breaking his silence.

Myrtle looked at him appraisingly for a few seconds before her scowl lessened slightly.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked, and waved a hand impatiently when Neville tried to answer.

"You were killed last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, and since it was opened again people have been attacked, including our best friend."

"We want to catch whoever is doing it." Neville finished.

Myrtle continued staring at Harry for a few more seconds before the scowl faded from her face to be replaced by a cruel smile.

"_Catch._"

Neville felt like he was missing something as he looked between Myrtle and the stony faced Harry.

"I'll tell you," she said finally, still grinning at Harry. "It was dreadful. I died in that cubicle, right over there. I was crying because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses again, and then I heard someone come in. They said something strange, a different language I think it must have been. And it was a _boy._ I poked my head out to tell them to go away, and then, I died."

"How? You don't look like anyone attacked you." Neville said.

Myrtle seemed to blush.

"I've got no idea! All I remember is a pair of great big yellow eyes, and then my body seized up and I was floating away. And then I came back. I wanted to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. She was so very sorry she ever teased me."

The cruel grin was back on Myrtle's face as Harry and Neville looked at each other with wide eyes.

"A basilisk," Neville breathed.

Neville had just grabbed Harry's arm to leave when they heard the doorknob rattle behind them. Myrtle dove into the nearest toilet as Harry dragged Neville into the stall and climbed onto the lid, barely managing to close the stall door behind them before the door to the bathroom clicked open.

They could hear a strange scraping noise, as if sandpaper were being rubbed against the stone floor, and small ripples rolled under the walls of the cubicle. Neither boy dared to breathe. The room was totally silent, and it stayed that way for several long moments.

"_Open," _a high, rasping voice eventually hissed.

They heard the grinding of stone and metal and a few moments later an echoing thud, and then nothing. The ripples on the floor had long since died before either of them dared move, and Harry slowly opened the cubicle door and peeked through the gap.

"Clear."

Neville sighed in relief as he stepped onto the floor, sucking in great lungfuls of air. Harry knew he wasn't much better.

"Let's get out of here." Neville said as he pushed the door the rest of the way open.

Harry paused. He didn't need to go anywhere. The entrance was right here; all he had to say was open. He could follow the Heir down there right now and put an end to this whole thing. For Susan.

It took considerable effort for him to squash the impulse, even with the help of occlumency. It was like Quirrell all over again; he didn't need to do it himself. He would be outmatched. His luck may not last. Best to let someone more qualified handle it.

"Let's."

Neville led the way out and into the corridor, only to almost immediately shudder to a stop. There was another message written under the first, the red lettering still running in drips like tears down a cheek.

_Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever._

"We need to find a professor. Tell them it's a bloody basilisk," Neville said.

"Fuck the professors, we need the aurors." Harry said as he turned and dashed down the corridor with Neville hot on his heels, sprinting through passageways and skidding round corners until they burst into the Hospital Wing. Hannah was sat in the same place she had been when they left, but Madam Bones wasn't. Her chair was empty.

"Where's Madam Bones?"

"Gone. Something urgent at the Ministry," Hannah said from her place beside Susan, still cradling her hand, "she had to leave a few minutes ago. What's going on?"

Before either had a chance to respond Professor McGonagall's magnified voice echoed through the room.

"All students to their dormitories at once. All teachers, come immediately to the staffroom."

Harry and Neville shared a look before they turned around and walked back towards the hospital wing doors.

"Wait! Where are you going? Wait for me!"

Harry stiffened before he whirled around with a snarl and advanced on Hannah as she hurried towards them, and she nearly stumbled in her haste to backpedal.

"You," he spat as he jabbed a finger into the air with such venom Hannah felt herself be physically pushed back, "betrayed me. It barely took you a few hours. You almost got me killed! If I _ever_-"

Neville's firm grip on his shoulder stopped him from advancing any further, and Harry glared at the appendage as if ready to tear it off.

"We don't have time."

Harry growled, but nonetheless stormed back out of the hospital wing.

"Stay here." Neville told her before he rushed after him, ignoring Madam Pomfrey's commands to stay where they were as they ran towards the staffroom.

The corridors were deserted as they ran, and within a few minutes they skidded to a stop outside the staffroom. A sliver of light cut across the floor from the ajar door, and Harry glanced at Neville before they crept towards the doorway to listen to the hushed voices that escaped through the gap.

"-a student has been taken by the monster," they heard Professor McGonagall say shakily, "right into the chamber itself."

They heard gasps and squeals from the gathered teachers.

"Who is it?" they heard Madam Hooch ask, "Who is the student?"

"Ginny Weasley."

Neville's own gasp nearly obscured the faint footsteps Harry could hear from around the corner, and he barely managed to throw the cloak over them before Lockhart strutted round the corner, beaming. Harry and Neville edged out of the door way and watched as Lockhart threw the door open with his trademark grin in place.

"So sorry – dozed off – what have I missed?"

The door had remained open, so Neville and Harry could see from their position crouched under the invisibility cloak the way the gathered professors stared at the man with something very close to hatred. They watched Snape step forwards, his usual sneer deepening as his eyes glittered.

"Ah, just the man. The very man we needed. A girl has been taken into the chamber, Lockhart. Snatched by the monster. Your moment has been come at last."

"That's right, Gilderoy," Professor Sprout seemed to smile at the way he blanched, "weren't you telling me just last night that you've known all along where the entrance is?"

"And that you know what is inside it?" Professor Flitwick piped up.

"We'll leave it to you then, Gilderoy. Tonight's an excellent time to do it – all the students are out of the way. I shouldn't think it will be a problem for you. Your skills are, after all, legend."

Harry had heard enough as he pulled Neville back behind the wall, threw the cloak off and stalked down the corridor.

"They… they were really going to-" Neville said from beside him.

"Yes, Neville, they were going to let Ginny Weasley die in the chamber just to stick it to a disliked coworker. They know exactly how incompetent Lockhart is. We'll have to do this ourselves."

"Those cold blooded bastards." Neville spat.

This time, it was Neville that lead the way to Myrtle's bathroom. Harry had rarely seen him as furious as he was now, muttering about cowards and disgraces to wizardkind.

Thankfully, Myrtle wasn't there when they entered.

"_Open._" Harry hissed.

Nothing happened.

"It must have to be more focussed. Look for a… a sign or something. Letters, runes, images, a weird break in the tiles. Anything."

Neville set to work, staring intently at the tiling and running his fingers under sinks to try and find the entrance. Harry started to do the same, until he glanced in the mirror.

Quirrell was stood behind him, smirking. There were hand prints charred into his face, but the peeling skin and blackened flesh only made the glittering red of his eyes more prominent. His purple turban seemed to uncoil of its own accord, and then it raised its head, forked tongue flickering in the air. Harry felt the breath catch in his throat.

"Going to kill someone else, are you Harry? You're well on your way to racking up a tally... Eleven years old, and now, at age twelve, you may add another. You _want _to, don't you Harry? I can see it. So alike, you and the Dark Lord are. Though, I doubt even he started as young as this," Quirrell said as his smirk deepened. "Your parents thought the Dark Lord the very deepest shade of evil. Whatever would they think of you?"

Harry continued to stare into the Quirrell's cruel red eyes, watching as his smile became more and more taunting. _This isn't real, this isn't real, _he kept telling himself, but still he felt like he couldn't breathe. His legs felt weak. Nausea bubbled in his stomach.

"Found something!" Neville shouted from across the room.

Harry forced himself to look away from the mirror. Neville was bent over a sink in the far corner, peering at the side of the tap.

"Yep, it's a snake! This must be it!"

When Harry looked back towards the mirror, Quirrell was gone. He felt the air rush into his lungs, and his body swayed at the sudden strength his legs found. He walked stiffly across the room towards Neville. The cold water splashing against his ankles helped.

"You okay Harry?"

"Yeah, fine," he muttered as he looked at the tiny snake that had been inscribed into the tap. He imagined that it was real, and the grey metal became swaying purple scales.

"_Open."_

This time, the wall parted behind the sink as it and the adjacent basins were pulled backwards, exposing a wide circular tunnel so dark that even the light of the room seemed to cringe at its touch.

"Ladies first," Harry said.

Neville cracked a small smile before he closed his eyes and stepped into the pipe. His initial yell quickly faded as he slid further and further down until the room was silent once more. Harry glanced around one more time and, finding nothing, took a deep breath and jumped forwards.

For several long seconds he fell straight downwards until he felt his back clatter into smooth stone. He hurtled around curves and over crests, stealing glances down other tunnels that branched off at random until he finally shot from the end with a thud.

The floor was littered with bones; they crumbled under his hands when he pushed himself up and snapped under his feet. A cat's skull peered at him, casting an eerie shadow in the light from Neville's wand. Harry lit his own wand and cast a silencing charm on both his and Neville's feet before they started to walk slowly down the tunnel.

"Remember, you see any movement at all you shut your eyes."

Neville nodded despite how futile that would be. The basilisk could just as easily bite them, and having their eyes closed wouldn't help them when the magical world's most powerful toxin flooded their system.

"Why do you think people were petrified not… you know?" Neville whispered.

"We'll think more about that later. Right now I just want to concentrate on not getting killed _or _petrified. Just because I'm petrified doesn't mean it can't eat me."

The silence was oppressive as they continued down the tunnel. Their wandlight barely penetrated five feet into the darkness, and so the two of them often found themselves stumbling over loose rocks or animal skeletons.

Neville suddenly grabbed Harry's shoulder and pointed a shaking finger at a great coil of glistening skin, it's green scales so dark they appeared almost black. It wasn't moving, so Harry crept closer.

It was a shed skin, curving and stretching across the floor for at least thirty feet. Harry felt himself pale. If the basilisk had outgrown _this, _how big was it now?

They walked on, and almost ten minutes later they same to a great circular door, covered with emerald eyed snakes that seemed to peer at him curiously as they approached.

"_Open," _he hissed.

The door split in two and Harry led the way inside, his hands quivering slightly. Neville's breath shuddered. They stood at one end of a very long chamber, filled with greenish light that cast long shadows across the floor. Towering pillars lined the sides, each with a thick serpent coiled around it, but even they disappeared into the gloom of the ceiling. At the far end of the chamber was a huge statue that seemed to be chiselled directly into the rock of a man with a thin, pointed face, and in front of it laid a black shape with flaming red hair.

Neville dashed across the chamber and knelt at her side, gently shaking her shoulder. Harry followed more slowly with his wand already raised. Where was the basilisk? Where was the _heir?_

"She won't wake," a soft voice said as an older boy stepped out from behind a pillar.

Neville raised a shaking wand. "Why not? She's not-?

The boy smiled. "Oh no, dear Ginny here is alive, but only just. She won't remain so for long. She poured herself into me, you see. After hours and hours of telling me her darkest secrets and her deepest desires, her life-force, her very soul, belongs to me now."

"Who are you? I don't recognise you."

"That's because he's not real, Neville. Look at him; he's blurred round the edges," Harry said, his eyes never leaving the boy. "What are you?"

The boy smiled again. "I am a memory, preserved in a diary for fifty years."

"You're no mere memory."

"No, I am not," the boy laughed, his eyes raking over Harry, "just as you are no mere boy. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. It was difficult to filter through dear Ginny's disgusting adoration, but if what she says about you is true than I must say I am impressed. A second year performing fourth, even fifth year magic when he gets bored in class. That's not all you can do, is it Harry? I'd be willing to bet there is so much more people don't get to see.

"But that's not the most interesting bit, is it? No, no, that happened long before you came to Hogwarts." The boy's eyes had taken on a hungry gleam as he paced in front of them. "How is it that a baby defeated the most powerful sorcerer of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar when Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

"Your powers, you mean." Harry said blandly, even as he stared at the boy with loathing.

The boy looked shocked for a second before he started speaking again, more to himself than to Harry or Neville.

"Yes, yes. Obvious considering where we are. Only the Heir of Slytherin can open the Chamber of Secrets. The fact you are able to enter is an after-effect of that Halloween, it must be."

Suddenly, the boy pulled a wand from the pocket of his robes. Harry started moving his own to cast a shield, but instead the boy turned and started swiping it through the air to form shimmering words.

_TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE_

Harry and Neville both made sounds of confusion which went unheard by Riddle as he waved the wand once more, and the letters slowly crawled through the air.

_I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_

"You see, it was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, only to my most intimate friends of course. You think I was going to use my filthy father's name? I, in whose veins flows the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself?"

"So you're what, halfblood?" Neville asked, "Why would you campaign for your own inferiority?"

The smile melted off Riddle's face to be replaced by a hateful sneer.

"I am the descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself! The filthy blood of my father counts for naught in the face of his power!" he yelled, as if that somehow cancelled out the half that wasn't magical.

Riddle drew several deep, shuddering breaths as he forced an awful smile onto his face. It was only now that Harry noticed how Riddle was slowly becoming more and more solid, and that Ginny was becoming more and more pale. He edged towards the prone girl, hoping for a chance to pry the diary from where she was clutching it to her chest. He just needed to destroy it, and then Riddle would disappear.

Unfortunately, Riddle noticed and pointed the wand straight between his eyes.

"Ah ah ah, I don't think so. You haven't answered my question yet. How did you survive?"

Harry remained silent as rage fuelled defiance burned in his eyes. He was confident that he could defend himself long enough for Neville to destroy the diary if it came to it. Riddle seemed to know what he was thinking, because with a smirk he swung his wand to point at Neville.

If anything his smirk deepened when Harry cast at him, a nasty variation on the piercing curse which ought to have punched a hole straight through him. The curse went through all right, only with no effect. It passed through Riddle as if he wasn't there only to chip a two inch wide hole in the pillar behind him.

"My my, not so light after all are you, Harry. Yet another similarity between us; both halfbloods, both orphans raised by muggles, both highly skilled wizards who don't subscribe to the lunacy of light and dark. The two of us are probably the only two Parselmouths to walk the halls of Hogwarts since Salazar Slytherin himself. We even look similar. Now, answer my question, and I may spare your friend."

Harry briefly entertained the notion that because Riddle wasn't affected by magic he also couldn't cast it but he quickly discarded it. He had used magic to write in the air, even if he hadn't used much. Hate pounded against his forehead as he forced himself to talk.

"No one knows," he said and hurried to continue as Riddle's eyes narrowed, "there are books devoted entirely to trying to figure it out. Wards, rituals, blood magic, sacrificial magic. No one has any idea; I don't think even Dumbledore knows. All anyone knows is that you killed both of my parents but the curse rebounded when you tried to kill me."

Riddle looked distinctly unsatisfied by his answer but also, strangely, rather pleased.

"Yes, of course. A mystery of magic that no one could have predicted. That is all that could have defeated Lord Voldemort," he muttered.

"Was it you that cursed me in a corridor and left me to die?" Harry spat, "You're certainly cowardly enough to curse a second year in the back given that you're stealing the life of an eleven year old girl."

"Oh no," Riddle laughed, ignoring the barb even as his eyes narrowed minutely, "that was someone else. Amazing isn't it? The power that fear has over the human mind. Now," he said as he looked at them with a wide smile, "I have met you, Harry Potter, and that was all I wanted. Let us see how the legendary Boy-Who-Lived and his friend fare against the King of Serpents."

As soon as Riddle turned to face the statue Harry dove for the diary and yanked it from Ginny's protesting grip.

"_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!"_

Harry watched the statue's mouth slowly inch open and heard something stirring within. Panicked, he threw the diary onto the floor.

"_Reducto!" _he shouted, pushing as much power as he could into the curse.

The diary should have been shredded to pieces, it's pages destroyed so completely that they would become nothing more than dust. Instead, the book shot out of the crater the curse formed and skidded along the floor until it hit the back wall, completely unscathed. His spells couldn't damage it.

They were going to die, Harry thought to himself as he stared into the black mouth of Salazar Slytherin in which he could see a squirming mass slowly edging forwards. Distantly, Harry heard music as he dove behind a pillar and watched as Neville dragged Ginny behind another, and then he saw a flash of red above him.

"Fawkes!"

Relief flooded through his system. Fawkes would get them out of here. Maybe he would even be able to destroy the diary, or at least take it to Dumbledore who could. Even when he felt the heavy thud of the basilisk finally emerging echo through his feet, he felt calm. Or at least he did, until Fawkes dropped a ragged heap in the centre of the chamber and swooped straight past.

Harry shared a look with Neville as he closed his eyes. They were going to die.

For long moments he stayed that way, breathing his last breaths as the scraping of scales on stone echoed around the chamber. And then, he heard a pain filled hiss, and then another. Harry couldn't help himself; he squinted his eyes open and peered around the edge of his pillar.

The basilisk must have been seventy feet long and as thick as a tree! The chamber shook each time its swaying bulk hit the wall. It was coiled and striking drunkenly at the circling Fawkes who swooped below each of the snake's strikes, jabbing and clawing at the beast's head. Harry slammed his eyelids closed a split second too late when the basilisk looked towards him, and it took him a moment to realise he wasn't dead.

When his eyes flew open again the basilisk was still looking towards him, its great yellow eyes dripping fluid. Fawkes had blinded it!

"_No!" _Riddle screamed, "_Leave the bird! Kill them! You can smell them! KILL THEM!"_

Harry pressed himself even harder against the pillar as he heard the basilisk's great bulk slithering across the floor and the occasional snap of it's jaws at the still circling Fawkes.

The only warning he had that the basilisk was about to strike was Neville swiping an arm through the air, and Harry threw himself from behind the pillar just in time to avoid the snap of it's jaws. Immediately he had to dive below it's swiping tail, and it came so close he could feel the breeze against his hair. He could see Neville using his body to protect Ginny, for all the good it would do. All he was doing was saving the basilisk from having to have two mouthfuls. The ragged bundle Fawkes had dropped was still just where he had left it, and Harry banished it into Neville's arms.

"_Here snakey snakey," _he hissed.

_Whatever Fawkes dropped damn well better be useful_, he thought as the basilisk's head snapped upwards to look straight at him, it's forked tongue flickering in the air. He could still see Neville cowering behind the pillar, who gave him a wide eyed look as he put what looked like the sorting hat on his head.

The fucking sorting hat? Really? He'd just exposed himself to a basilisk so Neville could get sorted again?

Harry was again forced to throw himself out of the way of the basilisk's lunging jaws, only this time he couldn't avoid it's tail. His vision blurred as he felt the air forced from his lungs and his feet leave the ground. Wind rushed past his ears, and then he felt the hard stone wall slam into his back. His head rang as he fell limply to the ground, leaving a red trail down the wall. He was sure something had broken, but right now he really couldn't tell what.

The basilisk sat up in front of him while it tasted the air. Harry just stared up at it; he was probably one of the only people to ever see a basilisk in such detail. It's scales had a strange shimmery quality, and those on its stomach were ever so slightly lighter than the rest. There were two small pits on its upper lip and two more under its mouth. It's eyes now looked like popped water balloons as the last vestiges of fluid trickled out of them, and as they drooped down and out of their sockets he could see the soft flesh behind. It's sabre-like fangs were as white as Lockhart's teeth. As far as last things to see before you die went, this wasn't so bad. With the exception of it's punctured eyes, it was actually rather beautiful.

Riddle was stood at the base of the statue, smiling to himself as he watched. He looked almost completely corporeal now, and Harry was struck with a deep burning of rage that quickly faded into shame. Riddle killed his parents, even if he wasn't in the same body as he had been on that Halloween night, and he was letting him come back. He'd failed. Failed to stop the Heir, failed to save Ginny. Quirrell had been right; he'd killed people in this chamber, even if this time it was with his failure rather than with his own hands. Riddle would come back and become the twisted monstrosity Voldemort had been, and more people would die.

The basilisk bared its huge fangs as it prepared to finally end him, and then it turned to look towards its midsection, hissing in pain as Harry watched Neville slash desperately at its scales with a silver sword embedded with glimmering rubies. It's tongue flickered out, and Harry slashed his wand. A flash of blue cut the beast's exposed tongue off and it shrieked in agony, and by the time it struck at where Harry had been he was long gone.

The basilisk clattered into now crumbling pillars as it swayed blindly, deep red blood dripping from its open mouth as it tried to use what remained of its tongue. Harry looked towards where Neville had attacked as he limped as fast as he could across the chamber to where he was crouched behind yet another pillar. The cut looked to have barely split its scales. What use was the sword when it inflicted what amounted to a paper cut?

"_No! They're behind you!" _Riddle screamed.

Harry cast the same piercing curse he had cast at Riddle into the basilisk's gaping maw, hoping for it to carve a hole deep into its skull. Its agonised hiss grated against his eardrums and a fresh surge of blood flooded from its mouth, but it stayed standing. Curses wouldn't work then, at least not the ones he knew.

"Any ideas?" Neville asked shakily as Riddle desperately tried to direct the snake towards them.

Harry looked between the sword clutched in Neville's hand and the basilisks blood filled mouth.

"One."

Neville offered the sword in an outstretched hand, but Harry shook his head. Instead, he pointed the tip of the sword towards the basilisk and gave Neville an uneasy smile.

"Over here!" he shouted.

The snake looked up and slowly moved towards them as it tried desperately to taste them on the air. Neville looked at him like he was some sort of lunatic.

"That's it, come on," Harry muttered as he crouched behind the sword, "just a little bit further. Up a bit, Nev. Slightly to the left."

Riddle seemed to realise what his plan was as he started hissing frantic commands, but it was too late. Harry put everything he had into the banishing charm, and the sword flew out of Neville's palm like a bullet from a gun. The sword shot into the basilisk's mouth in a blur of silver and punched straight through the top of its head. Blood spurted from its head, a metallic clatter echoed around the room, and then the basilisk slumped lifelessly to the floor.

Breathing heavily, Harry looked up at Riddle just as he released a rage filled scream and pulled Ginny's wand from his pocket. He cast the strongest shield he knew as Riddle started flinging curses with abandon, and they all splattered harmlessly against the translucent silver dome. He hardly felt the impacts; this was certainly not the power of the Dark Lord who brought a country to its knees. He must not have fully drained Ginny yet. They still had time.

"The diary!" he shouted, pointing to the black book that lie bare feet away, "Use the venom to destroy it! He's almost back!"

Neville grabbed the book from the ground and ran towards the basilisk as blood started to pool around its head, and all the while Harry kept his shield raised as curses continued to splash against it. A grey spell passed straight through which Harry had to stumble to avoid, watching as it gouged a small, spitting furrow into the ground. Riddle grinned maliciously as he cast several more spells, but they never reached him.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream as Riddle seemed to writhe and tremble, and then he was gone. His spells disappeared and Ginny's wand clattered to the floor, and then the chamber was silent. Harry looked towards Neville as he stood by the basilisk's mouth, black liquid streaming down his forearms and the diary impaled on a great, spear-like fang.

The two boys grinned and pulled each other into a tight hug, slapping the other on the back and laughing giddily. Neville wandered over to the sword and picked it up, swinging it around like a knight of old. If Harry was holding it he was sure he would make lightsaber noises or something. He'd never felt this high before!

A faint moan from the other end of the chamber pulled their attention and Neville hurried over to comfort Ginny when she woke up. Harry took another long look at the basilisk before he carefully pulled the diary from the fang and followed after him.

"Neville – oh, Neville – it was _me! I opened the Chamber of Secrets! _I didn't – I didn't mean to, I s-swear I didn't – Riddle, he, he made me – he t-took me over-"

"It's alright, Ginny," Neville said soothingly, "we know."

"W-w-we?" she stuttered.

Neville gestured over his shoulder towards Harry, and even now Ginny blushed. Even from behind Harry could tell Neville was trying his best not to laugh. He would have normally been annoyed by the fangirl behaviour, but this time he had to fight to keep the grin off his face.

"H-how did you k-kill that – that thing?"

"Oh, well that was mostly Harry. It was all Harry, if I'm being honest."

"If you hadn't started chopping at it it would have eaten me, Nev," Harry argued, "so I reckon we'll call it even."

Neville looked more than ready to argue that point until Harry's eyes darted significantly to the still trembling Ginny.

"Right then," he said cheerfully as he helped Ginny to her feet, "lets get out of here. Bloody dingy, this place. He could have at least made his secret chamber a bit nicer."

"I dunno, I don't mind it now. I reckon that massive snake really adds to the décor," Harry said as he grabbed the sorting hat from the ground and followed the two Gryffindors towards the door.

Fawkes glided down and led the way slowly through the tunnel as his feathers gave off a gentle glow. Neville was having to half guide, half carry Ginny along as she sniffled into his shoulder, and he sent occasional pleading looks back at Harry who simply shook his head with an eyebrow raised. Ginny already had an obsession with him; he didn't particularly want to carry her away from the monster he had just risked his life to save her from. She might think it was some kind of fairytale.

He couldn't help but be a little annoyed with the girl though, and the more his adrenaline-fuelled euphoria faded the more annoyed he felt. Surely when the diary started writing back she should have thought that maybe it wasn't as benevolent as it seemed? She must have had some inkling that she was the one opening the Chamber of Secrets. If she didn't then that meant she would have had stretches of time that she had no memory of, and surely that would have been a little concerning? Why would she not ask a professor, her parents or even an older student?

By the time they reached the pipe Ginny was walking at least mostly by herself as she whimpered about being expelled and disappointing her parents. Neville was doing his best to reassure her, but he wasn't being very convincing. In fairness she _had _opened the Chamber of Secrets and attacked three people, even if it was under the influence of a particularly dark magical artefact. With Lucius Malfoy as a governor Harry wasn't holding out much hope for her.

Fawkes sung a hopeful tune as he hovered in front of the pipe wiggling his tail feathers. Ginny stood a little straighter.

"Ladies first," Neville said, smirking.

Harry grumbled as he grabbed hold of Fawkes's warm tail feathers with one hand and onto Neville with the other. He felt himself go light, and then they were zipping upwards through the pipe, sweeping round the curves with such speed Harry felt his eyes water. It felt like barely five seconds before they were dropped back on the flooded floor of Myrtle's bathroom where Myrtle was waiting, staring at them.

"The basilisk is dead."

"The boy?"

Harry scowled.

"He wasn't here. He was just acting through someone else," he said as Neville and Ginny followed Fawkes out of the bathroom, "one day though."

Myrtle cocked her head as she continued to smile nastily down at him. Harry quickly grew uncomfortable under her gaze and walked out into the corridor, all the while feeling her staring at his back.

Neville and Ginny were waiting for him outside as Fawkes perched on a nearby windowsill.

"Where to?" he asked.

Fawkes squawked as he took flight and led them through the corridors, and moments later they found themselves stood in front of Professor McGonagall's office. Harry glanced over at the pale, shaking Ginny and let out a small sigh before he pushed the door open.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

There was a moment's silence as they entered, covered in muck and slime and blood. The voices he had heard through the door were suddenly gone, and then there was an ear-splitting scream.

"_Ginny!"_

Mrs Weasley had leapt from her seat by the fire and flung herself across the room at her daughter with her husband close behind. The three of them were now clutching at each other as tears flowed freely down their faces, and Harry could hear Ginny trying to speak in amongst the sobs.

Fawkes had glided across the room and fluttered to a stop on the shoulder of a grinning Dumbledore while McGonagall stood next to him, clutching her chest as she took great steadying gasps. Harry felt the scowl twist onto his face, and he could see Neville's grip tighten around the sword.

"You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?" Mrs Weasley cried as she swept Neville into a tight embrace. Harry managed to back just out of reach.

"I think we'd all like to know that," McGonagall said weakly.

That seemed to be the limit for Neville, who glared at McGonagall with what Harry would inadequately describe as disgust.

"With no thanks to you or any other professor in this school! To think you're supposed to be head of Gryffindor! I'm embarrassed to call you my head of house. We're supposed to be the house of the brave and noble, and yet you were quite happy to let an eleven year old die!"

Her already pale skin had paled even further under Neville's furious tirade, and everyone else was staring at him with wide eyes. Not even Fawkes's gentle singing seemed able to penetrate Neville's anger as he took heavy breaths, much like a bull readying itself to charge. Dumbledore's eyes had lost their sparkle as he drew himself up to his full height.

"Now, Mr Longbottom-"

"Don't start," Harry interrupted with a hiss, "I've got plenty to say to you as well."

Shockingly, Dumbledore seemed to stutter to a stop. Harry continued to stare up at him, daring him to press any further, but after he met Harry's furious gaze he instead averted his eyes to look back towards Neville. The Weasley's gaped at him in shock as McGonagall seemed to struggle for words, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"I don't know why you would think I would _ever _be willing to do such a thing," she eventually said, "but I can assure you that I was never 'happy' to allow Miss Weasley to perish in that chamber."

The expression on Neville's face twisted and squirmed until it formed a sneer that even Snape would have applauded.

"We were watching you! In the staffroom, you all agreed to send Lockhart down there to get her, and that's it! You all know how useless he is. He would never have saved her, even if he knew how to get down there. I bet he ran away, the coward. You were willing to let her die just so you could stick it to a colleague who you didn't like!"

"I can assure you we were doing everything we could-"

"What was it you said? 'We'll leave it to you then, Gilderoy'? If you were _leaving it to him, _what exactly were doing to get her out? Do you know where the entrance is? Do you know what was down there? Do you know _anything _about what has been happening for the past year?"

The only sound for the next few moments as McGonagall struggled for an answer was a high pitched squealing as Neville slowly twisted the point of the sword against the floor. The Weasleys were staring at McGonagall in horror.

"You disgust me," Neville spat. "Godric Gryffindor would be ashamed of what his house has become."

With a final glare he moved to stand stiffly in the corner behind Harry as McGonagall collapsed into the seat by the fire. Harry almost pitied her when the Weasleys backed away slightly.

"And you, Dumbledore," Harry said finally, "you let it all happen."

Where Neville's rage had been fiery and explosive, Harry's was cold even as they could see it burning in his eyes. His voice was level but still rippled with an undercurrent of anger, as if it was taking everything he had to keep it under control, and when combined with the blood and the dirt that stained his robes he looked truly frightening.

"You knew exactly where the entrance to the chamber was, and you knew that the monster was a basilisk," Harry continued to shocked gasps, "and yet you let the attacks continue. I assume you somehow made sure the victims were petrified and not outright killed when they met the basilisk's gaze, but those precautions wouldn't have helped Ginny, would they?"

The Weasley's looked at Dumbledore with betrayal etched into their features, and McGonagall seemed ready to defend him even as her posture remained slumped. Dumbledore looked momentarily heartbroken by the Weasleys' expressions before he conjured a plain wooden chair and sat heavily into it. He was either truly saddened by their distrust or a very good actor, and Harry couldn't decide which.

"I had no idea that Slytherin's monster was a basilisk, Harry, and I will continue to have no idea where the entrance is until you decide to share the details of Miss Weasley's rescue. I should have known, of course. Of course Salazar Slytherin would choose the king of serpents, but even now I don't know how such a beast would merely petrify its victims."

Harry let out a low, hissing breath. The sheer gall Dumbledore had to lie to his face when he knew, _he knew, _that he'd let all this happen. Let the Chamber be opened. Let him be criminalised for it. Let Susan be petrified. Risked the lives of everyone in the school, and for what? That was what still ate away at Harry's mind. Why had the old man done it?

"You were here when the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago," he said as his fingers began to curl, "Two students were killed. One of them is still here at Hogwarts, haunting a bathroom, and you're telling me that not once in fifty years did you think to ask her what killed her? That you never wanted to find out how your student died, or even to finally discover the legendary Chamber of Secrets?"

Dumbledore looked tremendously old as he sat there, staring down at his own lap. Harry growled.

"I asked Myrtle," he said finally, his voice trembling ever so slightly, "Begged. Pleaded. Dozens of times I asked her how she had died, and each time she refused quite vehemently. She knew each time I sent someone in my place, and she refused to tell them either. She blames us, you see. The faculty of her time. She was not the first victim, and she blames us for not stopping it before she was killed. She was quite right in that regard; we should have. There was a boy who I knew to be Parselmouth and who I knew to possess a troubled character behind his polite, intelligent persona, but I never dreamed that a child would be capable of the murder of another. There was no proof at all, and so I failed to act. If I had only acted on my instincts..."

"Why would she not tell you when it could stop what happened to her from ever happening to another?" McGonagall asked hoarsely.

Dumbledore sighed. "Myrtle is…"

"Vindictive, bordering on cruel," Neville said from the back. Harry flinched.

"I had not wished to speak ill of the dead, even if they have not yet moved on, but that would be an adequate description. Vengeful is what I would describe her as. When she returned as a ghost it was with a single purpose; to torment the girl that had bullied her. Poor Olive Hornby was driven mad within a year and was a permanent inhabitant of St Mungos up until the day she finally left this world. When she was taken away from Hogwarts by the mind healers while her parents wailed, Myrtle celebrated. Letting others die at the hand of the Heir of Slytherin would be worth it to her if only to see me suffer the guilt of not stopping it."

Everyone wanted to be like Albus Dumbledore. One of the most powerful, most gifted wizards of all time. The holder of some of the most prestigious titles the magical world had to offer. The hero who had beaten Grindelwald to halt a war that had raged across an entire continent in its tracks. But as Harry looked at him now as a single tear fell slowly down his cheek, he knew that he never wanted to be like Albus Dumbledore. Last year after Quirrell and now here in McGonagall's office, all Harry saw in him was the regret, guilt, and pain of a man that was not as omnipotent as people believed, or maybe even he himself would like to think.

Still, he couldn't be sure that Dumbledore was actually telling the truth. He thought he was, but he also knew that Dumbledore had some sort of ulterior motive towards him. Those tears could just as easily be fake. Harry glanced back at Neville with a raised eyebrow. From his place at the back of the room Neville watched Dumbledore for a few seconds before he nodded.

"I assume you want to know what happened?" Harry said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

For the next fifteen minutes Harry went over what had happened with occasional input from Neville. Finding out Susan was petrified; the Friar; Myrtle; trying to tell Madam Bones; the staffroom; deciding they would have to get Ginny themselves; and then, finally, the chamber.

Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle when Harry pulled the diary from his pocket and threw it to him.

"Voldemort possessed Ginny using that diary. It's certainly no ordinary diary, and I don't think that it's just a case of enchantment either. It was totally resistant to magic – my reductor curse smashed a crater into the floor but did absolutely nothing to it – and it somehow let him leech off of her. He was taking her life-force, magic, soul, whatever you want to call it."

The Weasleys' already tight grip around their daughter had become even tighter. Their skin had paled at Voldemort's name and even now the two adults were drawing deep, shuddering breaths.

"As for Riddle himself, I'm not sure what he was. Tangible enough to hold a wand, but my spell went straight through him without any effect. By the time we'd dealt with the basilisk he could even cast spells. They didn't have much power behind them, but he still managed to cast them. I'm not sure if that was because of what he was or because he wasn't particularly powerful before all his rituals. As you can imagine he was pretty interested in me, but once I told him no one knew how I survived he let the basilisk loose."

By the time they'd finished the tale of their heroics Harry's voice had become hoarse and he felt unbearably tired as he sat in a conjured chair. Neville looked much the same as he leant on the sword as if it were a cane while everyone in the room like towards them with a sense of awe-filled admiration. Ginny seemed to think he was Merlin himself as she stood by the door, clinging desperately to her father's hand while Mrs Weasley looked at him and Neville with a warm smile. He nodded somewhat awkwardly, and with that the three of them left. He caught the beginnings of a lecture about knowing where something's brain is before the door swung shut and nodded to himself. Even her parents thought she should have known better.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "I think this merits a good feast, don't you? Could you please alert the kitchens?"

McGonagall nodded wordlessly as she stood and walked towards the door with a final glance towards Neville, who looked back at her without an ounce of pity.

"I'd like to thank the two of you," Dumbledore said, "in each of the last two years I have failed my students, and both times it has been the two of you that cleaned up my mess, even at risk to your own health. Your parents would be so very proud of you."

Both boys nodded.

"Professor, do you know how I survived that night? I told Riddle no one knew, but..."

Dumbledore smiled sadly at him.

"Every magical theorist or self proclaimed expert has their own theory, and as the only surviving person who was old enough to remember the events of that night is Lord Voldemort, that is all they are. Theories. No one knows for sure and we likely never will, but my theory is one of love. Not that that singular, albeit dreadfully powerful emotion alone allowed you to survive, but that it was their effect on your parents that ultimately saved you. Your father was found in what remained of the living room, and all evidence suggests he and Lord Voldemort duelled quite destructively. A gifted wizard James Potter was, but he was no match for Lord Voldemort. He would have known that. I believe that he duelled with the hope of buying you and your mother enough time to escape.

"Your mother was found directly in front of your cot, as if she had been shielding you with her own body. She, just like your father, had been willing to die for even a chance at your survival. It is my belief that their sacrifice formed a powerful protection over you that stopped Lord Voldemort from harming you, and a protection that lives on still. He could not touch you last year – the purity of your parents love for you burned him, for he had never known, understood, nor wanted such emotions. Love can do great and terrible things, Harry, even break the very laws of nature or transcend death itself."

Harry realised he had a few tears carving rivers through the grime on his cheek and he furiously swiped them away. He knew they loved him – his one memory of them and everything Hagrid had told him on his visits had said as much – but enough to _die _to protect him? He struggled to fathom it, even as his mind swam of images of Dudley and his Aunt Petunia.

Neville and Dumbledore both found a remarkable interest in the walls as he composed himself. It was only then that Dumbledore seemed to remember they had just been in a fight with a basilisk as he looked at the blood, muck and ink that had stained their clothes.

"Right then, off the two of you go. To the hospital wing; Poppy will be most displeased I've kept you this long. And Mr Longbottom, might I ask that you go easy on Professor McGonagall? There is no doubt in my mind that she truly was doing all she could."

Neville looked at him blankly for a few seconds.

"I'll be sure to take your opinion into consideration."

Harry snorted slightly, only to immediately groan at the way his ribs protested.

Before they had even pushed themselves from their seats the door burst open with such force the doorknob dented against the wall. Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway with a furious look on his face, gripping his cane so tightly the skin of his knuckles looked ready to split.

"So you've come back," he snarled, cold eyes fixed on Dumbledore, "the governors suspended you, and yet you decided to return to Hogwarts all the same."

"It seems the governors had a change of heart once they heard that a student had been taken into the chamber," Dumbledore replied, smiling cheerfully. "It was rather like being caught in a storm of owls to tell the truth…"

It was only then that Harry noticed the little bandage-covered figure cowering behind the hem of Malfoy's expensive robes. _Dobby? _The elf was glancing meaningfully between Malfoy and the diary where it was sat in Dumbledore's lap, all the while hitting himself with his fist.

Harry frowned for a moment before he realised. Flourish and Blotts! He'd been so caught up in the fist fight he'd barely paid any attention to the book that Lucius had thrust into Ginny's hands, but now that he thought about it it was almost certainly the same book. And, as he listened to Dumbledore's strangely jovial reply, it was apparently Malfoy who had made sure Dumbledore was removed from the castle.

He flicked his wand towards Malfoy with a hiss, and a smile immediately spread over his face at the results. Malfoy's undoubtedly expensive black robes were now bright pink, with rivers of silver sequins and swirling green vines off of which bright flowers grew. He'd taken the robes Lockhart wore and, amazingly, made them worse. Malfoy looked apoplectic, but Harry grinned. He really was rather good, wasn't he?

"I reckon it suits him, don't you Nev?"

"Absolutely," Neville sniggered, his mood suddenly improved.

"You hear that? You look like a fine woman, Mr Malfoy."

Harry enjoyed Malfoy's growl immensely. Dumbledore's hand rested on his wand when Malfoy withdrew his own, muttering gruesome threats as he desperately tried to reverse the transfiguration, to Harry's amusement.

"I wouldn't bother. Unless you can speak Parseltongue, that's permanent."

"Why you little-"

"In fairness, Mr Malfoy, you did give Ginny that diary in Flourish and Blotts after your fist fight with her father. Imagine what it's owner would think if he saw you brawling like a common muggle. Tut tut tut," Harry said with mock disapproval.

"Prove it," Malfoy hissed.

After yet another fruitless attempt to reverse the spell Malfoy wrenched the robes off and threw them on the ground next to him, glaring at Harry all the while. He seemed to want nothing more than to curse him but one glance at Dumbledore dissuaded him from that notion.

"Come, Dobby," he said as Neville gasped, "we're leaving."

But Dobby didn't move. Instead, he was knelt on the floor next to the discarded robes and running his hands through them as if they were liquid gold.

"Master has given Dobby clothes," the elf said in wonder, "Dobby is free!"

Malfoy froze in place and turned to glare hatefully at Harry.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Malfoy," Harry smiled.

The two boys muttered the expected goodnight to Dumbledore before they left, who smiled at them with a mad twinkle in his eyes. Harry strolled from the room with a jaunty wave towards Malfoy as Neville struggled to contain his sniggers beside him.

"Considering how much Malfoy uses telling his father as a threat," Harry said, "he's really not much is he?"

They laughed to themselves as they wandered, or more accurately limped, towards the hospital wing until, eventually, Harry sobered.

"Your gran is on the governors, right?"

Neville nodded.

"Make sure Lucius Malfoy is out. I don't want him having any effect over anything about this school. He set a basilisk loose, even if we can't prove it. That is not someone who should have any say over children. And speak to her about the professors too. They were quite happy to let Ginny die."

Neville nodded again, this time much more sharply.

"Do you think Susan's aunt will be able to do anything?"

"Doubt it," Neville said with a shake of his head, "we can't prove Malfoy did anything, and even if we could nothing would happen. Either Fudge would protect him or he'd just buy himself out of it. Hogwarts is it's own institution as well – the Ministry has no say over what happens here."

The rest of the journey to the hospital wing was made in silence with both boys lost in their respective thoughts.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Harry's mood soured as soon as he entered the hospital wing and felt Hannah's voice grate against his ears, so much so that he was actually thankful when Madam Pomfrey dragged him away the moment she caught sight of the blood that had stained the back of his shirt. He'd forgotten about that, actually.

"Concussion, three cracked ribs, mild internal bleeding, various bruises and pulled muscles. What did you do, fly into a wall?" she asked sarcastically.

"More or less."

The matron harrumphed as she started casting spells on him. The pain in his ribs faded into a dull ache that was far more preferable, and then she forced two potions vials into his hands.

"Drink up. I've already dealt with the ribs; these will stop the bleeding and alleviate the concussion. You'll be free to return to your common room."

Harry really didn't think they were necessary, but from the look Madam Pomfrey gave him as she tapped her foot he didn't have much choice. He gagged each time, but once he had finally drank both she snatched the empty vials from his hand and bustled over to Neville who, annoyingly, got off far more lightly.

Hannah had thankfully left at some point during his visit with Madam Pomfrey, so Harry wandered over to Susan's bed side. He wondered what it was like being petrified. Was it like sleeping? Could she hear everything that was going on? Would she even know any time had passed?

"Pomfrey said the restorative potion will be ready soon," Neville said as he appeared beside him.

Harry nodded. That wasn't too bad. It was rather fortunate that Susan had been petrified so close to the end – he knew she'd have been upset at missing weeks or even months of classes. He wondered whether Colin Creevey would be forced to repeat his first year.

"At least we got the guy who did it," Neville said after a moment of silence, "sort of."

Harry's expression darkened as his fingers slowly clenched into a fist.

"One day I'm going to get him properly. He's not dead Neville. Eventually he _will _come back, and on that day when my spell hits it will go through him the way it's meant to."

The sheer amount of malice that dripped from Harry's voice startled Neville. It wasn't just the hatred that would be expected, there was an awful viciousness there too, lingering just below the surface. Like more than simply wanting to kill him, Harry wanted to make Voldemort suffer first. It made Neville shiver.

"How pissed do you think she's going to be with us when she finds out what we did?" Harry said after a few minutes of silence.

Neville grinned without looking at him. "Oh, she's going to be furious."

Harry left not long later, but Neville opted to stay a little longer. He said that he wanted to tell her what happened, just in case she could still hear them. Harry would have found that tremendously strange considering she was unable to reply or even move – like talking to a statue – but he did at least say goodnight to her frozen form. Just in case.

The corridors were empty as he wandered towards the basement. He supposed everyone was confined to their common rooms – he doubted they would even know the monster had been defeated.

When he finally reached the Hufflepuff common room it was crammed with what must have been every single Hufflepuff student – sofas and chairs had been expanded to seat as many people as they could, and yet there was still hardly an inch of floor that wasn't taken up by students clustered together with their friends, their knees folded up against their chests. Professor Sprout was stood at the centre, seemingly trying to comfort some of the younger students.

The hushed whispers that filled the air stopped the moment he stepped through the door. Everyone was perfectly silent as they looked at him with wide eyes or open mouths. Horror. Fear. Terror. He looked at Professor Sprout as she stared at him with her hand had raised to cover her mouth, and it was only then that he remembered that his robe was torn and his shirt stained with blood.

"It's dead," he rasped, and with that he walked straight through the path his frightened housemates scrambled backwards to make for him.

With everyone huddled in the common room his dorm was blessedly empty and, after a long shower, he crawled into bed more tired than he had ever felt in his life.

He woke up far, far later than he usually did, so much so that all the other beds in his dorm were empty. When he entered the common room everyone stilled just as they had done for months now, and Harry was busy reading the notice that classes had been cancelled when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.

It was a tall, slim seventh year with sandy blonde hair and brown eyes that had a solemn look to them as the boy looked sadly down at him. Judging by the way students of all years were craning their necks to watch, he seemed to be their elected representative. Or maybe they were just nosy.

"We all just want to apologise, Harry, for how we treated you. We should have known that you wouldn't do it. We'd never seen you give a damn about blood before, and you never treated us muggleborns any differently than you did anyone else. And now, after Susan was attacked and after Professor Sprout said you killed Slytherin's monster… well, now its obvious how stupid we were. We just hope you can forgive us for it."

He sounded genuine as he held out a hand with an earnest expression on his face. Harry looked down at it for a long moment before he looked back up at the boy. The common room seemed to hold its breath.

"This is supposed to be the house of loyalty," he said slowly, "and yet you cast me out over nothing more than a rumour. For months you called me a monster, a Dark wizard, even compared me to the man who murdered my parents and who tried to kill me. And now, you expect me to forgive you? Just like that?"

The boy seemed utterly gobsmacked as Harry left the common room, as did everyone else.

That wasn't the only time that students tried to apologise to him, and each and every time someone tried he pretended they weren't there. Not the most polite thing to do, he knew, but if they thought he was just going to forget about everything they were mistaken. One of them had tried to kill him.

It only got worse after the celebratory feast that night. He and Neville had each been given two hundred points each for defeating Slytherin's monster, though Dumbledore didn't say what the monster was, and Harry had been given an extra fifty for a "tremendous example of transfiguration". Neville had grinned at him across the hall and he had done his best to grin back, but it was made difficult by the looks he was receiving from his housemates. Some of them seemed to feel like they were being hard done by! The only silver lining was that Hannah had had the good sense not to try to talk to him, even if she sent him remorseful looks whenever she saw him. He had absolutely no plans to speak to her whatsoever.

The restorative potion was ready a week later, and as Harry and Neville had expected Susan was furious with them when she had found out they went into the Chamber of Secrets.

"Why in Merlin's name did you go down there?" she had shouted.

"Ginny Weasley had been taken!" Neville argued. "She would have died!"

"And you thought the best chance of getting her out lay with two second year boys? What about the professors? What about the aurors?"

"Your aunt had gone, and the professors didn't give a damn. They wanted to send Lockhart!"

"Even Lockhart is better than two second years!"

"Well clearly not," Harry said casually while Neville looked at him like he was mad, "he ran away and we killed a basilisk. Sir Longbottom over here even found Gryffindor's long lost sword."

Susan glared at him.

It was only when they explained that it would have taken too long to get the aurors and that Ginny had barely survived as it was that Susan finally calmed down, ish, though she maintained that a team of aurors would have been better. "They'd have killed it in less time than you did, so Ginny would have been fine" she had said. Personally, Harry doubted they could have, but he wisely kept that thought to himself. Susan was sure to take it as an insult to her aunt.

**~Scene Change~**

_It was nice to finally be home_, Harry thought to himself as he sat on his bed and listened to the clatter of pans from downstairs. With no house elf intercepting his letters the only real downside to no longer being at Hogwarts was that there was no Come and Go room here. He missed it dreadfully after barely three weeks. There were so many spells he wanted to learn, but he couldn't do that in his muggle bedroom even if he had the books! He'd written to the goblins to enquire as politely as he possibly could about when his countryside home would be rebuilt, and to specially request a fully kitted out training room. They'd agreed to adding a training room to the plans – for a fee, of course – and told him that they would soon be starting renovations. Harry hadn't been particularly happy about that considering it had already been two years, but apparently the goblins were the best and had a rather large waiting list. Even Harry Potter didn't get to skip the line, annoyingly. Unless, of course, he paid them an obscene amount of money. Better just to wait.

He had also considered what to do about the other students when he returned to Hogwarts. They had still believed him a murderer and that hurt, but it had firmly driven home the fact that people were fickle. Their opinions shouldn't matter to him, even if he couldn't deny they did. It wasn't much, but the sting was still there no matter how much he wanted to pretend it wasn't. He resolved to himself that from now on he would only care about the opinions of his friends. Unfortunately, at the moment there were only two; if he burned all his bridges by acting distant and unapproachable to everyone and then neither Susan nor Neville were around, well, Hogwarts would become a very lonely place indeed. He'd decided he would try and be at least cordial to everyone and, depending how that went, he might end up being genuinely friendly to some. Hannah would be an obvious exception.

Anger and hurt bubbled at the thought of her but he shoved them aside as he cleared his mind of all thoughts, emotions, and memories. After months of occlumency practise it was almost second nature to him by now, and he felt pride well up as he admired his defences before he swiped that away too. He had practised his occlumency every night ever since he found the Come and Go room, and while no one had tried he was confident he could fend off an attack from a Legilimens. Dumbledore was sure to be a master though, as would Voldemort, so he would keep practising with religious fever. He would keep improving until his mind was totally impenetrable, and then he would carry on after that too. The effects on memory recall and emotional control were already quite significant, and he felt that what he had gained was simply the tip of the iceberg.

Now though, it wasn't occlumency that he wanted to practise. He was sat cross legged on his bed, and when he entered his mind he sank straight through. Down and down and down he went until he could see a flickering orb of multicoloured light with garlands of energy flickering and dancing across it, and off of that sprouted branches that led all around his body. His magical core. Sensing your own core was the first step in sensing the magic around you and the only step he had managed so far, and it was by far the simplest. After that was looking outside your own body, which obviously was much harder.

When he had tried at Hogwarts it had physically hurt, as if he was staring directly at the sun. But now that he tried at his bedroom at home it was the opposite, as if the world had been plunged into an endless darkness; the only magic he could feel was his core as he tried and tried to expand his senses. He knew there were wards around the house, Dumbledore had said so. His enchanted trunk was pushed up against the wall and his wand laid on his desk barely four feet away, but still he could feel nothing, just like every time he had tried since he got back from Hogwarts.

He hissed in irritation as he opened his eyes and immediately snatched up the book again. He must have reread this passage dozens of times but nothing it said helped. It wanted him to expand his magical senses outwards and ignore everything that wasn't on the very edge until he found something, but that was what he had done! The book said it was an immensely difficult skill and would take months of practise at the very least, but that didn't make his failure any less galling. It was only thanks to occlumency and his continually growing control over his emotions that he didn't curse aloud.

It took reciting the Egyptian runic alphabet in his head, twice, before he was calm enough to clear his mind completely again. This time he expanded more slowly, and he felt the slightest of sparks flicker on the fringe of his senses, but the very moment he tried to concentrate more on it the tranquillity of his room was shattered by a yell.

"Mum says dinners ready! You've got to come help set up," Dudley's voice shouted from downstairs.

Harry took several deep breaths before he pushed himself from his bed and wandered downstairs. If Aunt Petunia said it was ready, that meant it would be ready in another five minutes at least. He had got so close!

As usual his aunt had the radio on in the background, this time going on about an escaped criminal called Sirius Black instead of the Archers, thankfully. Hagrid had said that one of his father's friends had been called Black, even if it was a little strange that he used his last name unlike he did for Peter or Remus. Harry wondered whether Black's name was embarrassing. Wizards did have some very strange names; the creatures professor was called Silvanus, and Malfoy's grandfather had apparently been called Abraxas! If he had a name like that he wouldn't want people using it either.

He just hoped his Hogwarts letter came soon. There were still a few spells in his spellbooks that he hadn't learnt, but they were just silly, pointless charms that had no real use. Not worth the time he'd waste learning them; he wanted to get his new books, but more importantly he wanted to look through the books in his vault. There were sure to be some that weren't in the Come and Go room.

As luck would have it, his letter came four days later, even if he had to wait an extra day before Aunt Petunia would take him. He had of course chosen arithmancy and runes for his additional subjects, but upon skimming through the books for them in Flourish and Blotts he was frankly dismayed. He'd learnt all this and more in his first year alone, and that was without the benefit of a teacher! He wondered whether he just had a gift for the two subjects or whether everyone else was just stupid. There was evidence to support both theories.

After looking through the books for divination and muggle studies, however, he'd decided that there was absolutely no chance in hell that he was taking them either. Divination seemed like a course in becoming a professional mystic bullshitter, and muggle studies was at least forty years out of date. Annoyingly, the fact that he had to take two electives forced him to continue with two of runes, arithmancy, and care of magical creatures. The thought of having to muck out hippogriffs didn't fill him with much joy, so he resigned himself to being bored in runes and arithmancy while the professor nattered away about the simplest of things. He would just have to keep learning by himself.

He also took another look inside his family vault, this time delving deep into the bookshelves to find that there were even more books than he'd initially thought. It made the Hogwarts library look like a pitiful little bookcase in a child's bedroom! There were thousands and thousands of books on what seemed like every conceivable subject, most of which he'd never heard of. It was the collective knowledge of generations of Potters and he had no hope of looking through all of it in a week, never mind the hour or so he had.

In the end he left with a shrunken trunk full of books that he'd thrown in after a brief skim through, most of which centred around duelling and combat. Curses, jinxes, shield charms, animation charms, environmental manipulation. Some of the books looked particularly nasty, but after last year he had decided that there was no magic he would not learn. In a world where people curse children in the back he needed to know every single possible spell. He did also pick up a couple more about runes now that he'd finished the book Susan gave him, as well as one about magical travel – he rather wanted to learn to apparate.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Please stay out of trouble. I want another normal year at Hogwarts from you, just like last year," Petunia said as they stood on platform nine and three quarters. There was a faint look of nausea on her face as she implied Hogwarts was in any way normal.

"I'll do my best," he said, grinning.

His stomach still squirmed, but with far less energy than it had the first time he had kept the dangers of last year from her. It almost disturbed him how easy lying to her had become, but he reassured himself with that fact that her knowing wouldn't benefit anyone. Lying was the best option for all involved.

She hugged him briefly and he squeezed back, and with a final grip of his shoulder she slowly made her way back down the platform towards the gateway to the muggle station. Harry turned and pushed his trolley in the opposite direction down the train, weaving in and out of the gathered families.

"Mr Potter," a voice said.

"Madam Bones," he said, surprised, "how can I help you?"

She looked quite different to how she had in the hospital wing. The despair that had oozed from her posture was now gone, replaced by straight backed confidence and an almost tangible aura of strength. He felt like he was seeing the woman that Susan had always described, though he'd thought she was joking about the monocle.

"No need for that," she said, seemingly amused by his politeness, "Susan has talked about you enough for me to feel like I know you quite well."

"All good things, hopefully. Is she here?"

"Mostly, but you know Susan. She does like to complain about you and Neville from time to time. She was not happy that you stopped going to some of your lessons, but having suffered through Professor Binns I can sympathise. To answer your other question, yes, Susan is here. She, Neville, and Hannah should be nestled in a compartment by now."

It took not inconsiderable effort to keep his face impassive at the mention of Hannah, though Madam Bones still frowned slightly. He was sure Susan had told her all about her betrayal and what had happened after.

"Have you heard about the escape of Sirius Black?" she asked as her tone become more grave.

"The guy who escaped from Azkaban? Yeah, I saw the wanted posters in Diagon Alley. What about him?"

"Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban for the murder of twelve muggles and a single wizard, and he was an ardent follower of You-Know-Who. We fear that he may come after you. Guards," she said, grimacing at the word, "have been stationed around Hogwarts for that reason."

"Lucius Malfoy was an ardent follower of Voldemort," Harry said, frowning at the way she flinched, "as were several other powerful pureblood wizards who bribed their way out of prison from what Sue and Neville say. None of them merited guards, so why does this one man merit them?"

Madam Bones sighed and cursed softly under her breath. She looked apologetic when she started to speak again.

"Susan did say you like asking questions, and I suppose you'd find out eventually anyway. You know that your parents were in hiding before they were attacked, correct? They were hidden using a spell called the Fidelius Charm. It's a very complicated piece of magic that conceals a secret inside a single person's soul – a secret keeper. From then on the secret is impossible to discover unless the secret keeper tells you."

"And Sirius Black was the secret keeper, and he told Voldemort where they were hiding," Harry finished.

His voice had been level, but his expression reminded Amelia of the one he had worn before he stormed from the hospital wing after Susan was petrified. There was frightening amount of hatred twisting and writhing on his face, and then, slowly, it disappeared. It only made him look worse. His expression became very close to neutral, all except for his eyes that continued to blaze with dancing black flames.

"I tell you this so you can be on your guard," she warned, "just in case he manages to get past the guards. He was heard muttering to himself before he escaped – 'he's at Hogwarts', over and over again. Sirius Black was You-Know-Who's right hand man. He's extremely dangerous, Harry. Don't go looking for him."

Harry nodded sharply.

"I won't go looking for him."

With that he wordlessly levitated his trunk and climbed aboard the train, and Amelia was already planning on writing to Susan and Neville to tell them to keep a damn close eye on him.

Harry stalked down the train with his trunk following obediently behind them. He saw Neville, Susan, and Hannah crammed into a compartment in which a shabby looking man was sleeping, but he walked straight past and yanked open the door to an empty compartment further down. Hannah's presence with his friends hardly even registered to him as thoughts swirled around in his head.

Sirius Black. The traitor who had got his parents killed. It all made sense now – why Hagrid had refused to say his name, and why there had always been a faint growl to the man's voice when he was forced to mention him. Black had been one of his father's best friends, and yet he had sold him out to Voldemort.

Harry didn't like traitors as it was. The traitor who betrayed his parents? The Devil himself would be unable to plumb the depths of the hatred that clawed at his skin, desperate to be let out. Harry planned to grant it it's wish.

The moment the door clicked closed he hissed a more advanced, password protected locking charm, and then he opened his trunk and started pulling out books. All the curses that he had cringed or even gagged at now seemed far too kind, far too merciful for the man who had betrayed his parents. He started flipping through them, searching for the very worst they had to offer. Even if couldn't practice the spells here he could learn all the theory before he got a chance to go to the Come and Go room. And he could imagine casting them on Black.

He'd meant what he said to Madam Bones on the platform. He wouldn't go looking for Black. He didn't need to. Black was going to come to him.

He stayed there, flipping through books and muttering incantations for the worst curses he could find until long after the blue sky had become black. The tip of his wand glowed a dark shade of violet as he murmured an incantation when, suddenly, the train lurched to a stop. His trunk slid across the compartment floor and hit the opposite bench with a bang, and then the compartment was plunged into darkness.

A few seconds later a ball of light flared to life on the tip of his wand and a flick sent it flying upwards, hovering in the middle of the ceiling. Cautiously, Harry edged across the compartment and pulled open the curtains that hung over the compartment door. He could see movement in the corridor as he peered into the gloom, but as he tried desperately to make sense of the towering shadows he felt the heat being sucked from the air.

His breath billowed out in front of him and distant screaming echoed in his ears, becoming louder and louder as he backed away from the door. It was Black, it must be, but even his fury was unable to warm the deep, inescapable chill that was settling in his bones. His wand shook between numb fingers as he pointed it at the door, waiting for Black to appear. A cloaked figure slowly stopped outside, and no matter how much he begged himself to cast spells his body refused to obey.

It wasn't Black. The figure was a faceless, towering creature, and even through the door Harry could hear its slow, rattling breaths, as though it were trying to draw more than simple oxygen from the frozen air. A grey, glistening hand reached from under its tattered cloak and tugged at the door. The door squeaked, but it didn't open. Harry's wand fell from his hand.

The screaming became clearer. Begging. Pleading.

"_No! Not Harry! Please not Harry!"_

He didn't recognise the voice, but somehow he knew who it was. His mum. He took a step forwards and his vision began to cloud, as if a thick black fog was seeping across his retinas.

"_Stand aside you foolish girl. Stand aside."_

This voice he recognised. Cold and high, echoing with endless cruelty. Voldemort. He was listening to his mother's murder. But he was still listening to _her. _Her voice. He took another step forwards.

"_Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

His dad. Dumbledore had been right. They had died to protect him; he could hear the resigned determination in his father's voice. But it was still his voice, the voice he had longed to hear ever since he was old enough to understand his parents weren't there, even before he knew what death really was. He took another step forwards. His face was now pressed against the glass and his eyes blind to the world.

A cackle of high pitched laughter. Flashes of spellfire. Snapping wood. Explosions. His father, taunting. A heavy thud. His mother, begging. Voldemort telling her to move. Pleading. A flash of green light. Gleeful laughter. Another flash of green light. White. A cackle of high pitched laughter. Flashes of spellfire. Snapping wood.

Around and around it went until, finally, the cold went away. The cloud across his vision thinned until he could see again. The figure was gone and the lanterns had flickered back on, and he was sprawled on his back with his legs bent awkwardly under him; they must have given way at some point. He could feel the rumbling of the tracks beneath him as he stared up at the ceiling. The train must have started moving again.

With a shuddering breath he scrambled backwards to sit on the floor under the window, his back against the outer wall. He didn't think he had the strength to pull himself onto one of the seats. It certainly didn't feel like he did. His skin was pale and he could feel the cold sweat clinging to his brow as nausea rolled in his stomach, and no matter how many deep breaths he took it didn't seem to be enough to settle his thumping heart.

A banging on the glass dragged his head from where it had drifted down to the worn carpet to look up at Neville, Susan, and the man from their compartment as they stood in the hallway, staring at him in relief through the glass. Harry supposed the man must be one of the guards Madam Bones had mentioned, but he hadn't done a very good job. He'd let those things on board! He supposed the extreme, very visible relief on the man's face must have been because he hadn't got the Boy-Who-Lived killed.

Harry tiredly waved his wand to remove the locking charm and a second later they came rushing in.

"Harry!" Susan cried, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just feel a bit sick is all," he said as Neville helped him up into a seat, "what were those things?"

"Dementors," the man said quietly, "among the foulest creatures to inhabit the earth. They suck every happy memory, every shred of hope or love or joy from the air and feast upon it. Get too close and they will drain you until there is nothing in your soul except despair as you are made to relieve the worst experiences of your life. They are used as the guards of Azkaban, but now, with Sirius Black's escape, they have been stationed around Hogwarts."

_Those _were the guards Madam Bones had mentioned? And they were exposing children to them? How stupid could people possibly be? Despite that, though, something about the man's explanation felt wrong. They were evil, hellish creatures to be sure, but the worst experiences of his life? No, they hadn't made him relive those. He'd heard his parent's voices. There was nothing despairing about that.

"Why were they here? Why did they leave?"

"They were looking for Sirius Black," Susan said as she carefully watched his expression, "but Professor Lupin cast a spell to chase them off. They weren't supposed to come onto the train."

"Why would Black use the train when he could just apparate?" Neville asked.

"He wouldn't," the man now identified as Professor Lupin said with a strange tint to his eyes, "the dementors must have caught a similar scent and thought it was him. Something dark."

With that ominous statement Professor Lupin handed Harry a thick chunk of chocolate and strode from the compartment to talk to the driver. Strangely, Harry immediately felt better once he took a bite, even if both Susan and Neville were still watching him worriedly.

"They're putting those _things _around a school? Why the hell did the governors agree to that?"

Neville shook his head with a frown. "They didn't, but Fudge insisted. No amount of protest from anyone could stop it, and as they're staying just outside the wards they're not on Hogwarts grounds so the governors have no say. Gran was furious, as was Susan's aunt. Apparently when Fudge announced it in the Wizengamot Dumbledore was so angry that Gran was almost scared of him. I'm honestly surprised Fudge stood up to him."

Harry had known the Fudge was an idiot, but he hadn't thought he was quite this stupid. Even putting the dementors so close to people's children was sure to make his approval rating plummet, never mind now that they'd invaded the train.

"Where did Hannah run off to then?"

He had tried to keep his voice neutral, but he couldn't stop an edge of snideness from bleeding into his words. Both Susan and Neville cringed; maybe they'd hoped he hadn't seen her with them. Or maybe they had expected him to have forgiven her for betraying him. _No_, he said to himself, _they weren't that stupid_. After two years he was sure they knew him better than that.

"She just went to make sure the others are all right," Neville said with false nonchalance, "just because Zach's annoying doesn't mean we want him or anyone else traumatised by dementors."

The rest of the journey to Hogwarts was made in silence as Harry nibbled on his chocolate, and thankfully Susan and Neville were distracted enough that they didn't pay any attention to the book that was lying on the floor before Harry had a chance to grab it and put it back in his trunk. He could only imagine what would have happened if they saw inside it.

Harry spent the time practising his occlumency. While he may be fairly confident in his abilities to withstand attack from a Legilimens, he wanted to work on some of the other benefits. Namely his emotions. He'd seen the look on Madam Bones' face on the platform; some of his hate and rage at his parents' betrayer had escaped their confinement and it had taken far too long to force them back into their enclosure. He couldn't allow that to happen again, and he couldn't allow it to influence his decisions either. If he did, he was handing Sirius Black chances to attack or, worse, to escape.

There were dozens if not hundreds of dementors lingering above the forest as the three of them stepped onto the platform and made their way to the carriages, and then four more as they passed through the great iron gates of Hogwarts. Even the thestral seemed to glare at them as it trotted past. Harry felt goosebumps form on his arms as he looked up at them through the carriage window, and, somehow, beneath the shadowed veil of their hoods, he felt like they were looking at him too.

"I heard you fainted, Potter," Malfoy's voice mocked from behind him as they entered the entrance hall, "is that true? How embarrassing."

"No more embarrassing than a grown wizard being tricked into freeing his own house elf or having his expensive robes transfigured pink, I wouldn't think. He couldn't even undo the transfiguration. Outsmarted by a second year Hufflepuff. Not very bright your father, is he Malfoy?"

Draco fumed as he stomped away towards the Slytherin table with his pet trolls in tow. Low mutters echoed around the entrance hall, and Harry knew that before the feast was over every single student would know what had been said. He smiled slightly at the thought.

The three of them split up to go to their respective tables, and Harry saw Neville glaring up at the professors table as he walked towards the few Gryffindor students who had already arrived. Harry knew from his letters that he was just as angry with the professors now as he had been when they tried to palm off responsibility onto Gilderoy Lockhart. From the sounds of it his gran had been sympathetic, but even as a governor there was little she could do when they truly hadn't known where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was. The only thing she could use was that they hadn't called the aurors, but technically Hogwarts was an entirely independent entity and so the staff were well within their rights to opt to handle it themselves. Harry suspected that there would now be efforts in the Ministry to change that.

The most Madam Bones and the governors had been able to wring out of Dumbledore was a more stringent set of safety protocols, more frequent inspections by governors, and a promise to allow aurors into the castle when necessary, but given that there were dementors outside those safety protocols didn't really mean much.

The Hufflepuff table was mostly empty when he and Susan sat down, but even the few students who were there looked at him with equal parts hope and apprehension as he sat down.

One of the boys scooted down the bench after a few seconds of waiting. Cedric Diggory – a well liked boy throughout Hufflepuff, from the first years to the seventh. He'd actually given him a few arithmancy tips back in first year. He didn't remember Cedric doing anything in particular last year except be caught up in the mob, and he had a feeling he might have been nicer to him than most up until Granger.

"I would apologise to you, Harry, if I thought it would do anything. If I was in your shoes I'm not sure it would, honestly. After what you said in the common room last year I started to think about it from your perspective. I mean, it was awful for us, but I think it must have been worse for you. For us there was one person attacking hundreds, but for you, you were alone and being attacked by all of us. Just a shame most of the others can't see that," he said, glancing at the doors as more and more students trooped in, "anyway, for what it's worth, I want to say I'm sorry about the way I treated you last year. I'm not apologising for any of them – if they want your forgiveness they should have the decency to ask for it – but I at least wanted to say it."

More than his words, Cedric's expression stopped Harry from dismissing him out of hand. It was genuine and it was earnest, but unlike the boy in the common room there was no expectation. He didn't expect Harry to suddenly decide that being made an outcast in what was supposed to be his family while he was at Hogwarts was okay and that all the loneliness and isolation hadn't happened. He just wanted to say it.

Harry revised his opinions. Maybe he had been too quick to tar everyone with the same brush.

"Thanks, Cedric," Harry said as he offered a hand which Cedric took with vigorous sincerity.

"Not a problem."

As Cedric slid back down the table to rejoin his friends Harry turned back to Susan who had watched the scene with hope shining on her face. Just then Hannah and the rest of the third years wandered into the hall, and Harry's mood immediately soured. The hope evaporated from Susan's face as she looked at the group and made a near imperceptible shake of her head, and Hannah actually looked crestfallen as she sat down next to Ernie. So they _had _just expected him to forgive her just like that! Harry almost laughed. She'd betrayed his trust and almost got him killed, and all over her childlike naivety. He had absolutely no plans of speaking to her ever again, and certainly not as a friend.

Dumbledore's announcement of the dementors only served to sour his mood even further. It wasn't the dementors themselves that stirred the bubbling cauldron of venom that was slowly seeping into his blood, it was why they were here. The feast dragged by with excruciating slowness, and while his dormmates dawdled in the common room he hurried up to his dorm and pulled his invisibility cloak from his trunk. Quickly, he yanked the curtains around his bed closed and a few minutes later he was walking the familiar route to the Come and Go room.

The bookshelves looked at him invitingly as he entered but he blew straight past them and into the training room. The wooden figures stood blankly against the wall, and Harry narrowed his eyes at them. The grain of their skin faded into pale white as ripped trousers and dirty shirts appeared over their bodies. Long, matted black hair sprouted from their heads and their faces seemed to melt, forming mountains and valleys out of which stared crazed grey eyes.

Sirius Black, looking just as he had in the posters in Diagon Alley. Harry sneered.

He cast one of the spells he had studied on the train: the brain liquifying curse. It sped from his wand and struck his target's chest, causing Black's face to scrunch up in pain and then slacken before he crumpled to the floor with thick red liquid dribbling from his nose. The next dummy's mouth opened in a silent scream as it's blood boiled in its veins. Another had his heart squeezed harder and harder until it finally gave out, and the last dummy had its head separated from his shoulders. A bang echoed around the room as it fell to the ground, now blank and wooden again.

Harry stood in the middle of the room, breathing heavily. How had they come to him so easily? He felt his throat constrict as he looked at the effects of his spells but he quickly forced the feeling down. These were for Black, the man who had betrayed his parents in service to Voldemort. The Dark Lord's right hand man. He'd probably raped, murdered, tortured countless others. All those innocent people dead. Black deserved these spells and more, so much more. Harry told himself that he would never use those spells on anyone that didn't deserve it, and the waves in his stomach quickly settled to ripples. The dummies slowly reformed themselves and returned to their original positions, and then Harry started casting again.

He finally emerged from the Come and Go room in the early hours of the morning, tired but satisfied. He had practised the curses he'd read about on the train and added them to his repertoire, as well as a few more from books that had appeared on the desk. He had ideas for his own spells now – spells that would make Black wish he had never so much as looked in his father's direction.

Mostly though, he'd practised actually duelling. After reading the books from his vault he'd finally realised that being able to swat away spells when under no real pressure wasn't going to be enough, so this year he'd decided that he would learn how to fight properly. It was sure to be an important skill in his life, even if he wasn't particularly good at it yet.

In fact, he'd spent most of the past few hours getting hit by minor but quite painful spells, but as time went on he was hit by slightly fewer. Right now he could only divert spells if he really, really concentrated, and even then plenty snuck through. He couldn't cast any spells himself either when he was concentrating solely on defence, so that had led him to trying to dip and dance around spells. That had at least allowed him to get a few curses in of his own, but he hadn't been able to avoid even half of the spells that came at him. Eventually he would be able to avoid all of them though, and any that he couldn't avoid would be batted away with a careless swish of his wand. He would be unbeatable. Inescapable. He just needed to practise. When Black came, he would be ready.

**~Scene Change~**

It would be fair to say that Harry had been a little annoyed with his two friends for the few days after they arrived back at Hogwarts. Annoyed and slightly hurt that they would think that he would just welcome Hannah back with open arms. They should have known him better than that by now, but after a few days he managed to get over it. They hadn't expected it to happen, they had hoped. Yes, that must be it, even if it wasn't a whole lot better. How they could remain friends with someone with such a distinct lack of loyalty escaped him, but he supposed the bindings of a shared childhood could be rather powerful.

Interestingly, Hannah had been just about the only member of Hufflepuff house that _hadn't_ acted as if everything was just how it had been a year ago. People nodded and smiled at him in the common room, sat next to him at meals, even offered to play chess or gobstones with him. And yet, barely three months ago they had been convinced he was the Heir of Slytherin and out to kill them. Harry wasn't entirely sure what he had expected. He hadn't expected them to all fall on their knees and individually beg for his forgiveness, but acting like they were all chummy again irritated him for some reason.

His dormmates were the worst culprits, always trying to drag him into some conversation about something or other. Even Zacharius would try every now and then, and Harry couldn't remember the last time Zacharius genuinely tried to talk to him without the express purpose of boasting. No, this was just their remorse for his treatment last year made manifest, but despite Harry's desire to throw it back in their faces he kept to his decision he made over the summer: polite and civil, even if his replies to them were more often than not a sentence or two at most.

He could hear Zacharius now, whispering that Professor Lupin's practical lesson would be a walk in the park. Beside him Neville gave a derisive snort that caused Zacharius to glare over his shoulder while Susan looked similarly amused, only she looked down at the ground to hide her smile. Neville didn't bother.

The muttering increased when Professor Lupin somehow sent Peeves running with chewing gum wedged in his nostril. This was already shaping up to be the second most interesting class of the year, but Harry didn't think anything would ever beat Malfoy getting mauled by a hippogriff. Well, mauled was how Malfoy described it. It was apparently more like a small gash and a lot of screaming. The rumour was that the poor hippogriff was going to be executed for daring to harm Lucius Malfoy's son, no matter how understandable that action was. Harry could hear Granger and Weasley being surprisingly civil behind him as they argued about how best to save 'Buckbeak'. For once, Harry actually hoped that Granger would succeed. He could only imagine Lucius Malfoy's fury when he found out the hippogriff had escaped.

"What do you reckon it'll be?" Neville asked as they followed Professor Lupin through the corridors.

Harry shrugged. He wasn't entirely sure what was on the curriculum this year, but it seemed to be mostly creatures. What creature would be found in the staffroom he had no idea.

His question was quickly answered when they entered to find the staffroom empty but for Snape. Harry wondered how Professor Lupin was going to teach them to deal with it, considering he'd found this creature to be particularly mean-spirited. Maybe an exorcism? If worst came to worst he supposed a few cleaning charms ought to scare it off.

As soon as Snape laid eyes on Professor Lupin his face twisted into an even deeper sneer than usual and he stormed from the room, pausing only to insult Granger on his way out. Harry hid a smile at the way her face reddened in embarrassment; in retrospect, his open and over-the-top conflict with her was rather stupid. Of course, that didn't mean his opinions on her had changed. She was still an irritating, utterly insufferable, superior acting know-it-all and he would still find amusement in her embarrassment, but he just wouldn't go far out of his way to cause her any. Much, anyway. He had bigger issues to worry about now than one annoying girl.

"Now," Professor Lupin said as he gestured to a wobbling, banging wardrobe, "today we will be learning about boggarts. Can anyone tell me what a boggart is?"

The majority of the class had gasped and taken steps back when he told them there was a boggart bare feet away, but despite that several shaky hands still rose into the air. Harry knew exactly what a boggart was and he knew the spell to turn it into something laughable, even if he'd never had to cast it before. What he didn't know was what his greatest fear was. How did you know what the worst, most violent demon that plagued your heart was when any number of scenarios made your gut lurch? He was almost scared to find out.

"Hermione, up you come," Professor Lupin said, "and the rest of you, back against the wall. I want you all to have a clear shot at it – if there's too many people close it will get confused and try to become two fears at once. In that case it normally ends up more funny than scary. I'll call the next person forwards, and then Hermione you move back."

They all shuffled backwards while Granger stood in front of the wardrobe with her wand clutched between nervous fingers.

"Ready? On three. One… two… three!"

Professor Lupin flicked his wand and the wardrobe door flew open, and out of it strode, strangely, Dumbledore. There was a severe expression on his face as he advanced on Granger, his hands clasped behind his back and the twinkle gone from his eyes. Granger's arrogance evaporated as she stared up at him.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but you are hereby expell-"

"Riddikulus!" Granger cried.

Dumbledore's robes became a hideous neon green and his beard grew even more, so much so that he tripped over it and faceplanted onto the floor.

"Susan!" Professor Lupin shouted.

Susan ran forwards as Dumbledore peered up at her. There was a crack, and in Dumbledore's place stood a man dressed in pure black but for the shining gold shield of the auror corps that was strapped to his belt. There was a sorrowful expression on his face as he held out a hand from which a bloody monocle dangled.

"R-Riddikulus!"

The auror's robes became a clown costume with huge yellow shoes, polkadots and face paint. The monocle was now a red balloon that tugged innocently at his fingers.

The entire rest of the class darted forwards one after another to confront the boggart. For Seamus it became a banshee with wild black hair; for Parvati it was a mummy complete with outstretched arms; Hannah's was a man in a bone white mask. Neville's boggart had been his grandmother telling him how disappointed his parents would be if they were here, and once Neville had turned her into an ugly little owl that squawked indignantly Harry stepped forwards as the only remaining student. Just as the owl's beady little eyes turned to him, however, Professor Lupin surged forwards. The boggart became a round silver orb as he forced it back into the wardrobe and threw the door closed.

"Excellent," Professor Lupin beamed, "five points to both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor for successfully tackling the boggart. A further five to Hermione for answering my question at the beginning of the lesson. A very well done to everyone for an excellent lesson. Homework is to read the chapter on boggarts in your textbook and summarise it for me, to be handed in on Monday. Off you go."

With that the class left chattering excitedly between them, but Harry opted to stay behind. Neville and Susan both noticed and hung back to wait by the doorway.

"Yes, Harry?" Professor Lupin asked as started rearranging the chairs.

"Why did you not let me fight the boggart?"

Professor Lupin frowned.

"Well," he said slowly, "I assumed that the boggart would assume the form of Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord appearing in the staffroom would have caused a bit of a panic I'd have thought."

Harry was surprised that he said the name; the only other person he'd heard use it was Dumbledore. For some reason though, Harry found the idea of Voldemort being his worst fear rather funny.

"Why would my worst fear be someone who I've beaten three times already?" he said, shaking his head slightly.

Professor Lupin looked taken aback. Clearly he hadn't known about the other two.

"Right, well," Professor Lupin said, seemingly a bit disquieted, "you're welcome to try now if you'd like. Quickly though, before the other members of staff want their break room back."

Harry nodded. If everyone else could do it then he definitely could.

Professor Lupin made his way to the back of the room where Neville and Susan were still waiting and flicked his wand at wardrobe once more.

His parents stepped out. They looked exactly as they had done in the mirror in his first year, only now their features were twisted in disgust as they looked down on him. Harry felt unbelievably small.

"We died to save you," his father spat, "and look what you've done with our sacrifice."

"Murder at age eleven?" his mother chimed in with disappointment dripping from her tone, "we let Voldemort kill us so you would survive, and all we did was save someone worse than he is."

Harry wasn't sure he could even say the incantation due to the ball that had wedged itself in his throat. He felt angry, shameful tears well up in his eyes, and no matter how hard he couldn't fathom a way to make _this_ funny. It took all his effort to force his occlumency barriers down enough that he could think beyond the words that were echoing around his head. _Worse than he was._

"Riddikulus," he croaked.

There was a loud crack and his parents were gone, replaced by Dudley as he line danced around the room. Harry let out a watery chuckle and swiped at his eyes before he turned back around.

Professor Lupin was looking at where his parents had stood with a broken expression on his face that quickly became unreadable once he realised Harry was looking at him, even if his eyes were still strained. Next to him, Susan was staring at him with a heartbroken look on her face and a compassion flickering in her eyes. Neville smiled sadly.

Without a word Harry left and he felt Susan and Neville fall silently into step next to him a little way down the corridor. He appreciated that they didn't try to talk to him. He wasn't sure he would be able to cope if they did. They stayed in silence all the way to the Great Hall for lunch, and as Harry stared blankly down at his empty plate Neville started talking enthusiastically about something else. Malfoy, or maybe about something funny that had happened in another class. Harry wasn't entirely sure.

By the time the bell rang and he followed Neville and Susan towards their first runes class he'd mostly managed to stop the words of the boggart from replaying themselves over and over again in his head. Aunt Petunia hadn't blamed him, and if she hadn't then his parents wouldn't have either. It wasn't real. He just wished he could ask them, because there was still that dark little corner of his mind that whispered that there was no way he could know that they wouldn't have thought him a murderer.

The runes classroom was quite small and had three rows long tables that stretched from one wall to the other instead of columns of two-person desks, leaving just enough room at the sides to form narrow walkways. The wall was covered in posters displaying various runic alphabets; Harry recognised Aztec, Sumerian, Norse, and Egyptian from his brief glance. Sat behind the desk at the front was a skinny witch with long grey hair that fell straight down and past her shoulders. Something about her reminded him vaguely of Professor McGonagall, if a little less rigid.

He, Neville, and Susan took seats on the right of the middle row and pulled out their parchment and quills as the class slowly filled up. Eventually, the stream of students slowed to a stop and the witch at the front stood from her chair.

"Good afternoon," she said, "my name is Professor Babbling and welcome to Ancient Runes. Now, I'd expect you all to have known what this subject entailed before you picked it, so instead of a pointless introduction let's get straight into it."

She launched into an explanation of exactly what runes were and a dramatically simplified version of how they worked, and while everyone else started scribbling down notes Harry zoned out. The boggart still slithered at the fringes of his thoughts but he forced it back, instead idly watching the other students scribble the Professor's words down. Now that he was here, he was wondering why he had picked either ancient runes or arithmancy. He was doing more than well enough on his own – having to waste his time in a class being taught things he'd learnt years ago was going to be more of a hindrance than a help. He should have taken creatures. At least that way he wouldn't be wasting his time.

Susan's elbow jabbing hard into his side pulled him from his daze, and it was only then that he realised the entire class was staring at him.

"I apologise Mr Potter," Professor Babbling said sweetly, "am I boring you?"

Harry hurriedly shook his head.

"Well then, I suppose you can tell what I just said about Hansen's Law?"

Several students around the room sniggered, and Harry could see Malfoy smirking widely at his perceived embarrassment.

"Well," Harry started slowly, "Hansen's Law relates to which rune in a sequence or array is the start point for the enchantment, ritual, or ward and is actually based around the arithmetic derivations behind each rune, but to make it easier we just use priority tables. It's pretty important in basic runes, but past that it's not used very often because it's only applied when other principles such as Davigon's Law and Polov's Principle can't be applied first, which is really uncommon in larger and more advanced rune sets. There are certain conditions under which Hansen's Law does supersede those other laws, but they are exceptionally rare and mainly found in multiple enchantment, so I haven't really looked into it much."

The class gawked at him, glancing between him and Professor Babbling as she stared at him, seemingly stunned. Neville, Susan, and the other Hufflepuffs didn't look particularly shocked – they knew that he had been studying runes ever since he started his first year. Several Ravenclaw students were whispering furiously between themselves, and one or two of the Slytherins seemed to be assessing him. Granger looked furious.

"How advanced is that stuff you just said?" Neville whispered, "The other laws?"

"Not sure," Harry shrugged, "but I'd guess fairly. I haven't exactly been following the school curriculum."

Professor Babbling's mouth opened and closed a few times before she found her voice.

"Alright class, go over the first two chapters of your textbook and then do the exercises on the board," she said with a distracted flick of her wand towards the previously blank blackboard. "Not you Mr Potter."

As Neville and Susan flipped open their textbooks beside him Professor Babbling disappeared through a door behind her desk, and a minute later came back with booklet clutched in her hand.

"Clearly you're beyond the level of this class, Mr Potter," she said as she dropped the booklet onto his desk while Granger glared, "so I'd like to assess where you are in terms of ability. As this is a double period, you have just over an hour and three quarters to complete these questions."

Most people would have been annoyed at being made to do an exam that no one else had to do, but Harry was rather thankful. It would save him from being bored for the rest of class, and hopefully she would give him some harder material in future lessons so he wasn't bored then either. Maybe he'd even move classes to be with the older years, though he wasn't sure what year level he was actually at. Sixth, he guessed?

He took a moment to smile mockingly at the still seething Granger before he looked back to the paper he'd been given. It seemed to be questions of a whole range of difficulties. Some he could have done in his sleep, but some were a bit more difficult. There were a few that he couldn't do more than take educated guesses at, but most of those were enchantment specific. While there was a lot of overlap between enchantment and rituals and wards, there were some things which only applied to one area and, as the effects of most enchantments could be achieved much more easily with a spell, he hadn't bothered learning those.

He finished the paper with about ten minutes of class left, which he spent trying to help Neville and Susan with their work while Professor Babbling slowly leafed through his answers. When the bell rang she dismissed them with a distracted smile and a reminder of their homework, though she said that he was exempt from it. Granger looked utterly outraged.

**~Scene Change~**

Dumbledore sat at the staffroom two days later, smiling serenely out at the assembled professors. He had always loved staff meetings; hearing about the progress of his charges as they learnt and grew was one of the most exciting things he could do in his old age. The only thing that soured his mood was the chill he felt in his bones even despite the blazing fire as he watched dark shapes drift over the forest. He shook his head and forced the frown from his face; Cornelius was being extraordinarily stubborn about the dementors. There was nothing he could as headmaster to get rid of them, and all his attempts as Chief Warlock had been rebuffed.

The smile hitched itself back onto his face as he looked around the room. There were much more pleasant things to be thinking about than dementors. He only wished that everyone else enjoyed these meetings as much as he did, if only so that he could make them longer. An abridged version of anything that the professors deemed noteworthy was not nearly as heartening or as fascinating as hearing about the progress of each of his individual students but alas, they simply did not have the time. He sometimes wished he still taught or even just observed classes so that he could watch his students learn, but the sheer volume of his duties for each of his offices made that impossible.

"Now then," he said, "let's get this meeting underway, shall we? Minerva, is there anything you wish to share?"

"My first years are settling in rather well. There have been of course a few instances of homesickness, but escorting them to the owlery and explaining they are welcome to use any of the school owls to write letters home seems to have alleviated that. They seem far more excited to simply be learning magic," she said with a small smile. "Outside of my first years there is little to report, though I will warn you that the Weasley twins seem to be planning something."

Amused and even fond chuckles echoed around the room. Professor Flitwick squeaked in excitement and Dumbledore smiled at the twins' antics. Severus sneered.

"Mr Creevey is still behind his peers, of course, but with Percy Weasley tutoring him I feel he will be caught up by the end of the year, hopefully before."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. The events of last year were still leaving ripples through the school even after Harry and Neville had defeated Slytehrin's basilisk.

"How is Mr Potter, Pomona?" he asked, "He did have a rather difficult year last year."

Severus scowled at the mention of the name but several other staff members looked rather guilty, Minerva in particular. Albus knew that Lily and James had been two of her favourite students, and that her mistaken belief that their son was a dark wizard over nothing more than a rumour had made her feel like they would have been disappointed in her. He had no doubt that she would be right had they still been here.

Remus had a similar expression on his face, although his was because he hadn't been there to help Harry when he needed it. Dumbledore had never believed the tales of werewolves being able to transform without the full moon, but he was forced to revise that opinion when he had told Remus about the events of last year, in particular the attempt on Harry's life. His eyes had become a vivid amber as he growled low in his throat, his slowly lengthening teeth bared. Dumbledore had never seen the usually mild mannered werewolf so utterly furious.

"He seems well, if a little more standoffish with the majority of his housemates than he was at the start of last year. It's quite understandable though, especially after he rather clearly laid out his viewpoint in the common room last year. That is not to say he is unfriendly; he still interacts quite well with most, which is big improvement to the tail end of last year. He seems to be more open with Cedric than anyone else, with the obvious exception of Susan and Neville. Hannah though, he is unwilling to even do so much as look at."

Dumbledore sighed sadly. In many ways Harry was so very like his parents. He had trusted his friends with a secret that could put him in great danger, just as his parents had when they chose their secret keeper. And both times, the Potter family had been betrayed. Dumbledore wondered what James or Lily would have done with Sirius if they had survived; James he wasn't sure, but Lily? Lily would have killed him. That was one difference between Harry and his parents – where his parents were fiery and temperamental, Harry was calmer. Or at least, it seemed that way. Maybe he was just a very good actor.

Bathsheda had been practically bouncing in her seat ever since he'd mentioned Harry to the point that she now seemed on the verge of exploding. It was strange to see the normally restrained woman so excited.

"Bathsheda?" he asked with a hint of amusement in his tone.

"He's a prodigy! I've never seen anything like it, not even close!"

"Bathsheda," Minerva said sternly, "get a hold of yourself for Merlin's sake. You haven't even told us who you're talking about."

"Mr Potter of course!" she cried, grinning in excitement, "he wasn't paying attention so I asked him to tell me what I had just said about Hansen's Law. It's basic, the very foundation of runes, and we all know Potter likes to read ahead. I was expecting the simple answer, but his explanation referenced things that aren't taught until NEWT level, and others that aren't taught even then! He's a third year for Merlin's sake! Its utterly ridiculous that he's able to understand those principles and laws without any formal instruction. I gave him a mix of questions from last years OWL and NEWT exams, and had he taken them last year he would have got O's on both, I'm telling you now. Even the things he didn't seem to have studied he guessed at, and half of those guesses were correct!"

"Something similar happened in my class, Albus," Septima said with equal excitement, "though not to quite to the same level. I didn't give him an exam, but I did quiz him on a few things. From what I can tell, he's easily able to break down spells or just about anything else into their arithmetic components, but he admitted that he's not quite as good at creating countercurses from those components. He can modify simple spells fairly well so far though; he has already modified _lumos _to only shine in one direction. It's simple as far as spell modification goes, but even that isn't mentioned until after their OWL year. I doubt my sixth year students will be able to modify any spell successfully until after Christmas at least."

"It's well known in Hufflepuff that Harry has been studying both since his first year, though I don't think anyone ever realised quite how good he was at them," Pomona said proudly.

Dumbledore shared her pride, as did Remus by the look on his face. Hagrid was grinning so widely his face was liable to split in half. Lily's pride would have dwarfed theirs easily, as would have James's. Lily too had been a rather gifted arithmancer, though neither had had much skill in runes. Again, Severus sneered.

"What do you propose, Bathsheda? Septima?"

"If its possible I think I'd like to move him up to my sixth year class," Septima said thoughtfully, "though at the moment he may be slightly ahead of where the class is, he hasn't followed any curriculum. There are sure to be gaps in his knowledge that will need to be filled in. If need be I can always give him extra work, but I don't think he's quite at the level of a seventh year student. That's nothing to shake a fist at, mind you; progressing further in two years of unscheduled self study than in three years of teaching is quite impressive ."

"And you, Bathsheda?"

"Oh, there's absolutely no point having him in any of my classes," she grinned, "but I'm certainly not just going to let his talent go unnurtured. I think I may set him an individual project, just like I was set during my mastery. Of course, I'll offer him a little more help than I was then but even so it will be a challenge for him. Once he's done I might even petition the guild to let him have it. Imagine that! A mastery before he's even left Hogwarts!"

**~Scene Change~**

"Sorry it took so long for me to see you, Hagrid," Harry said as he sipped his tea, "but with the dementors around nobody's allowed outside unless it's to go to the greenhouses or your class, and even then we have to be escorted. And if no one else is allowed out then I'm certainly not. Makes it a little difficult for me to just pop by for a chat like I did last year."

Instead of Hagrid's hut, they were sat in a little room off of the entrance hall that seemed to be used as some sort of reception area. There were several comfortable chairs and low glass tables on which sat the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, this one claiming Sirius Black had been sighted in Glasgow. Harry hoped it was true; Glasgow wasn't too far from Hogwarts.

It was the second week of October, which made Harry cringe slightly as he looked up at Hagrid. Hagrid had chatted happily with him for countless hours last year, and yet this was the first time that he had actually made time to go and have a chat with him. As he'd said, the dementors had stopped him from just dropping by and plugging the gaps in his arithmancy knowledge – most of which he felt were made up of things that were pointless and that he therefore didn't need to know –was taking an annoyingly long time, but what he couldn't tell Hagrid was that he had spent almost every spare minute in the Come and Go room training for when Black came. He hadn't learned many new spells recently, and Hagrid certainly wouldn't approve of the ones he had learnt. Instead he had been focussing on learning to use the ones he already knew the most effectively.

The summoning charm, he had found, was incredibly useful in a duel. He could summon something from behind his opponent to knock them over, or a piece of their clothing to pull them off balance. Conjuration was still difficult and took a lot out of him if he did it often, but its usefulness couldn't be understated. _Lumos _could be overpowered to blind opponents, especially now that he'd finally managed to modify it to only shine light away from him. The actual duelling technique – like movement and almost distracted spell diversion – was coming on nicely the more he practised, and he hoped soon that they would become instinctive. The other effect of all his duelling practise was to drive home just how unfit reliance on magic made you – he used to be able to play football all day, but even now after a month he couldn't dance around spells as long as he'd like. He'd have to start doing actual fitness training if he wanted to get much better, a fact that made him groan every time he thought of it.

"It's alrigh', 'arry. No harm done. You've been busy I hear – not much time for socialisin'. All the professors have been singing yer praises, except Snape of course but who gives a damn what he thinks. Professor Babbling's been raving about you, she has. Professor Vector too – she was talkin' about how yer top of yer sixth year class! She was so excited an' speakin' so fast I could barely understand her. Lily'd be so proud of yeh, she would. James too of course, but Lily was a dab hand at arithmancy. Not much she wasn' a dab hand at though, yer mum. Brightest witch of her age I called her. Yer a lot like her, 'arry. I know yeh look just like James, but yeh remind me so much of yer mother."

Harry beamed.

"Thanks, Hagrid."

"Yeh got any idea what yer gonna do for yer runes project?" Hagrid asked as he took a gulped from his bucket sized mug.

"A couple I think, but I don't know if any of them are doable until I get a few more books. I'm sure there's some in my vault at Gringotts."

"Have yeh checked in the restricted section?"

"No one's been willing to let a third year in there," Harry said.

He of course didn't mention that he'd snuck in under his cloak a few times anyway, and though there had been nothing for his runes project there had been plenty of other books that he had found rather interesting. Wards, blood magic, sacrificial magic, rituals, spell creation. The restricted section was a veritable gold mine, even if it was clear by the sporadic gaps that littered the shelves that a lot of books had been removed.

"You'll figure it out. Course yeh will. Yer far too smart to be held up somethin' as little as a few missing books. I'll be honest with yeh though, 'arry. I'm running out of stories to tell yeh. Nice ones anyway. Plenty more nasty ones, but those aren't the sort of stories yeh want to hear. Dark times, they were, an' me an' yeh parents were right in the thick of it. But I spose yer getting plenty of stories about yer parents that I don't know about now that Professor Lupin's around," he said with a wink.

Harry cocked his head at Hagrid, a little confused.

"Professor Lupin knew my parents?"

"Knew yer-? Of course Professor Lupin knew yer parents! Him and yer dad were best friends all through Hogwarts! I've been tellin yeh stories all about him! I'd have thought Remus would have told yeh. I'll be having a talk with him, I will," Hagrid growled. "Being here at Hogwarts with yeh but not even telling yeh he knew yer parents, bloody shameful that is. Yer parents would be so angry with him. He was yeh favourite uncle when yeh were little for Merlin's sake, and now he's acting like he doesn't even know yeh?"

"Why would he not tell me?"

Harry wasn't sure what to think. The fact that Lupin had been friends with his dad didn't automatically mean he had to give a damn about him, but it sounded like before that Halloween night Lupin had cared. Why had he just disappeared for twelve years then? And now, when they are literally living in the same place, why would he not say?

Hagrid got a strange expression on his face then, somewhere between understanding and exasperation.

"I'm not sure, 'arry, but if it's what I think it is it isn't my place to say."

Harry frowned, but try as he might he couldn't convince Hagrid to tell him. The ability to keep a secret was very uncharacteristic of Hagrid. When Harry finally returned to his dorm he decided he wouldn't ask Professor Lupin about it. The man clearly didn't want to talk to him, so he wouldn't force him to.

**~Scene Change~**

"Harry, could you stay behind please?" Professor Lupin said as class ended a few days later.

Neville and Susan were waiting questioningly by the door but Harry waved them on. Professor Lupin was leant against the front of his desk, looking just as sickly as he had done for the past few days only now he looked guilty too. Harry almost couldn't believe that he was only in his thirties.

"Harry," he sighed before Harry interrupted.

"Are you speaking to me because you actually want to or because Hagrid guilted you into it?"

Lupin looked pained.

"Of course I want to. I've wanted to see you ever since you were born, but after that night I was in no state to be near a child. There are things about me that would make that a poor choice at the best of times, but then? James and Lily were my family, and in that one night I lost everyone that I cared about. I fell – plummeted is probably a more accurate term – into a deep, deep pit. Alcoholism, depression. They're dark beasts, Harry, darker than any Lord Voldemort ever wielded. I was in no fit state to be anywhere near you."

"And now? Clearly that must be all dealt with, otherwise you wouldn't be in a school."

"I haven't seen you in twelve years; I thought that after all this time you wouldn't want to speak to a strange man who says he knew your parents, and I thought you would be upset that I hadn't come to see you until now."

"You'd be right about the second bit."

Harry almost felt like laughing. Lupin really was full of excuses, and every single one of his words was brimming with self pity. He was acting as if he was the only one who had lost someone that Halloween. He may have lost his friends, but Harry had lost his _parents!_

Nonetheless, Lupin had known them. Had been best friends with his dad, had probably got to know his mum well when his dad started dating her. He would have been at the wedding and at his birth, would have babysat him when he was a toddler. All those memories were too precious to pass up just because he so far thought Lupin to be pretty pathetic.

"But," Harry continued before Lupin could make any more excuses, "you knew my parents. I've been speaking to Hagrid about them since near the end of last year, but he says he's run out of stories about them that I would want to hear. I want to know more about them."

Lupin latched on to his words like a drowning man.

"I've got plenty of stories about your parents. More of James obviously – I only really became close with your mother once they started dating at the end of sixth year – but still a lot of both of them. Quite a few of you as well. Lily used to say you were going to cause more trouble than the four of us combined."

"You, my dad, Peter, and Sirius, you mean?"

Lupin's expression had become one of fond yet pained reminiscence as he spoke, but at the mention of Sirius it twisted into a snarl. Harry thought his eyes changed colour for a split second too but decided he must have imagined it.

"How do you know about him?" he growled.

"Madam Bones warned me on platform nine and three quarters. She thinks he'll come after me."

Lupin looked positively feral at the thought. Harry had a hard time likening this man with the soft, pitiful one who reeked of self loathing that he had seen bare moments before.

"Anyway, I've got to go to transfiguration," Harry said awkwardly as he slowly backed towards the door.

"You're not doing anything tomorrow evening are you?" Lupin said suddenly.

Harry shook his head.

"Come to my office after dinner. I'd like to tell you about your parents."

Harry nodded wordlessly and then left, and as the door clicked shut Remus had the sudden urge to pull out the firewhiskey again; by hiding away he'd all but destroyed any hope he had of having a true relationship with Harry. He could tell that if it were not for the promise of details about his parents he wouldn't give a damn that in another life he would have killed him Uncle Remus. Hagrid had been right – James and Lily would be furious with him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"What do you mean I can't go? My aunt signed the form!"

Filch shook his head nastily, seeming to take great pleasure from Harry's annoyance.

"The Headmaster has forbidden you from going to Hogsmeade, Potter. What a shame."

Harry glared as he yanked his permission slip back from the miserable old squib. Filch seemed to smile, if such a thing were possible.

"It's alright Harry," Neville said, "it's not a big deal. We'll keep you company; it's just a few shops, and I don't much fancy being out with dementors around anyway."

Susan nodded in agreement beside him and made to start leading the way back towards the castle.

"No, the two of you are still going. And don't give me that, Neville. You've been excited about finally getting to visit the Three Broomsticks for the past week. I don't need babysitters."

Neville and Susan looked at him for a few seconds before they reluctantly re-joined the queue and handed their permission slips to Filch. They both knew that if Harry didn't want them there he would have little problem slipping away. His ability to disappear seemingly at will was an incredibly irritating trait, especially given their recent and poorly concealed concern about him. The fact that his homework was now normally graded E instead of O was apparently far more alarming to them than it was to him. What was the point in wasting that extra time when he could spend it in the Come and Go room?

Harry wandered back towards the castle, gaining several curious looks as he did so as well as a smug sneer from Malfoy. He smiled cheerfully back, which for some reason seemed to infuriate the little ponce. Harry felt a little less annoyed after that; that wasn't to say he was pleased, but he was far more annoyed that Dumbledore saw fit to control what he did and where he went than he was about not getting to go to Hogsmeade. He'd have more than likely get bored after a while and then wished he was back in the Come and Go room anyway.

His exclusion from Hogsmeade might have been a blessing in disguise, he supposed as McGonagall lead a troop of professors past him and towards the gates. Even if Black had turned up either they or the aurors in the village would have taken control long before he had any chance to go at the traitor himself, and there would surely have been people in the crossfire. Getting into a duel with Voldemort's right hand man was hardly advisable anyway. Better to lure him into a trap somehow – he just had to figure out how, but beyond using himself as bait he had yet to think of anything that could work.

There would have also been the dementors, even if the Ministry insisted they would stay away. Despite the sounds of his parents they pulled to the forefront of his mind he had no desire to relive their murder again, especially now that he did not need to go to such lengths to hear their voices. His research into the hellish creatures had yielded a spell to drive them off – the Patronus charm, presumably the one Lupin had used on the train – but he had yet to get any success from it whatsoever. It was framed as an immensely complicated spell, but from the description all it took was power and a single very happy memory. He had both, and yet he still hadn't got any more than a lone whisp.

He'd considered asking Lupin to teach him to cast it but had up until now decided against it. Clearly the man was quite capable of casting a patronus but Harry just didn't want his help. His relationship with Lupin was a strange one even now. Twice a week for the past three weeks he'd gone to the defence classroom and sat in his office, and then after some stilted small talk they would tumble into a memory of his parents. He'd seen the joyful aftermath of his birth, their wedding, some of their earlier pranks. He would drink in his father's mannerisms, his little jokes and the glances he would shoot at Lily Evans even in their first year. He would glare hatefully at the younger Sirius Black, even if after seeing the adoring look in Black's eye he couldn't fathom that he would ever say so much as a bad word about James Potter, let alone betray him to Voldemort. But then, he would always remind himself, he hadn't thought Hannah would ever betray him either.

Even after all that though, Harry couldn't quite let go of the fact that Lupin may have never told him that he'd known James Potter if Hagrid hadn't forced him to, and he didn't want to ask for favours off a man like that.

Suddenly a pair of hands yanked him into a passageway, and his wand was already out and glowing before he saw who it was.

"Bloody hell Harry, chill out! We come in peace!"

"Fred? George? Why are you pulling me into secret passageways? I don't swing that way, if that's what you're hoping."

He hadn't really spoken to them this year, but it was clear from the way that he was never victim to their pranks that his rescue of Ginny had left an impression. The twins grinned as they clutched dramatically at their hearts.

"Oh, whatever shall we do, brother mine? What is there to live for now that out true love has rejected our advances?"

"Firewhiskey, brother! We must drown our sorrows until, one day, our prince finally accepts the truth of his own heart."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry grumbled, though he couldn't help the amused smile that had appeared on his face at their antics, "why are we really here?"

"Straight to the point as always, Harry. We do so like that about you. Well, we couldn't help but overhear your little disagreement with Flich –"

"Awful old bastard, he is," the other interrupted, "always trying to stop our pranks. We've got a few nasty ones saved up just for him. Anywho, after overhearing the miserable old sod deprive our great Harry Potter of the opportunity to procure his very own pranking supplies, we decided to intervene. Community service, if you will."

"And how are you going to intervene? Is this going to be one of the nasty ones you were talking about?"

"Oh no, of course not. We like you Harry, we really do, but those are being kept for a more deserving time," the first twin said almost apologetically, "like if he ever puts us in detention. That doesn't happen often though, mind you. Can't put us in detention if he can't catch us, can he?"

"When was the last time he caught us, Gred?"

"Oh I don't know Forge, quite a while. And it's all thanks to this baby," he said as he pulled a folded-up piece of parchment from his robes with a flourish.

"A bit of old parchment?"

It looked grubby and had been folded so many times Harry was surprised it hadn't ripped, and he couldn't figure out how it could possibly save anyone from Flich. The twins looked affronted, as if he had just insulted their holy scripture.

"A bit of old –?" one of them spluttered, "talk some sense into him George, please, before I start crying."

"This is no ordinary piece of parchment, dear Harrykins. We got those from Filch's office in our first year, from a drawer labelled _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous-"_

"Like waving gold in front of a niffler that is, putting a sign up like that. No one can be expected to resist such a temptation, not even two innocent young so-and-so's like ourselves."

"And you stole it," Harry said, trying to imagine the twins ever being in any way innocent. The twins grinned at him.

"Well of course we did. Like Fred here said, like putting gold in front of a niffler. A couple of dungbombs as a distraction and we had it, easy as you like. Plenty of other things in that drawer, but this looked so normal –"

"So obviously it must have been the best of the bunch –"

"– and after many, many attempts, we finally managed to get it to work. This little beauty's taught us more than any professor at this school. Watch and learn, oh young apprentice."

With that George pulled out his wand, pressed the tip to the parchment and intoned _"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."_

Ink welled up out of the parchment, dripping and crawling and climbing across every inch until the page was almost entirely criss-crossed with lines and curves. Tiny footprints moved slowly around the page, each one labelled in miniscule handwriting, but Harry only had eyes for the green writing that had blossomed across the top.

_Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs  
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers  
are proud to present  
THE MARAUDERS MAP_

Harry reached out and snatched it from George's grasp with trembling fingers. The nicknames. He'd heard the nicknames in the memories Lupin had shown him, even if he didn't yet understand why they were used. His dad had made this.

"You alright, Harry? We know it's pretty cool, but still…"

"My dad made this," Harry said quietly as he dragged his fingertips along the corridors.

"Your dad was a marauder?" the twins asked in unison. They looked ready to faint in awed excitement at finally finding out the name of one of their heroes.

"Yeah, he was Prongs."

The mournful look on his face brightened into a grin as he held the map in his hands. His dad had made _this. _His spells and countless hours of his time had created this masterpiece. It was an amazing, awe-inspiring piece of magic even discarding the fact that James Potter had made it. When that fact was added in, well, Harry didn't think there would ever be anything that could top it.

"Do you know who the others are?" Fred asked a little breathlessly.

"No," Harry lied, "I just read that my dad was called Prongs in one of his old journals."

The twins looked a little crestfallen but nonetheless overjoyed to know the identity of one of the infamous Marauders.

"Use it well, Harry. It belongs to you now. But don't forget to wipe it when you're done with it, otherwise anyone can use it. Just tap it with your wand and say 'Mischief Managed'."

With a final grin the twins slipped out of the passageway and made their way out of the castle, all the while whispering between themselves. Harry suspected they would soon try and figure out who the other three marauders were.

Harry stared down at the map for a few more long seconds before he wiped it and left the passage himself. A few minutes later he found himself stood in front of a familiar section of blank wall, not that he'd been paying any thought at all to where it was his feet were taking him. Now he understood how his father had been caught so rarely; avoiding Filch would have been a doddle with the cloak as well as the map.

The room appeared just as it always did, only this time Harry ignored the glowing bookshelves and the training dummies and instead spread the map over the desk. The castle was mostly empty because everyone was in Hogsmeade so the names that were dotted around the school in little groups were mostly first and second year students. Dumbledore's office was empty, as were most of the other professors'. He assumed they were all in Hogsmeade keeping an eye out for Black. Only Snape and Lupin were still in the castle, both in their respective offices.

Harry considered going to ask Lupin about the map before he decided against it. Still though, he was incredibly curious as to how the map was made. It fascinated him from an academic standpoint even beyond the fact that his dad had made it. How had they done it? Had they found and mapped every single one of the secret passageways, abandoned classrooms, even snuck into the other houses' common rooms? Or had they somehow connected the map to the wards or something?

Neither the Come and Go room nor the Chamber of Secrets were on the map. If they had mapped it all themselves, that meant that they'd never found either. If they'd connected to the wards, then both the Come and Go room and the Chamber of Secrets were technically not part of Hogwarts. Or at least, they were warded separately. If that was true then there was a gaping hole in Hogwarts defences that only he and Voldemort would be able to use. What if Voldemort was able to apparate directly into the Chamber of Secrets? Then he'd be able to get into Hogwarts whenever he so pleased.

Mind you, that didn't look difficult to begin with. There were seven different passages that led out of the castle and past the edges of the map, presumably into Hogsmeade. He felt a little smug when he saw there was one behind the statue of the one-eyed witch – he had known there was something special about it. There were also a few more bits of the castle that he suspected were more than they seemed that weren't marked on the map. Did that mean he was wrong or that his dad simply hadn't found them? It all came down to the question of how the map worked, but he wasn't going to ask Lupin about it. He wasn't completely sure that he would be allowed to keep it or whether Lupin would try to take it so he could use it to keep an eye out for Black.

As he had little interest in going to Hogsmeade and even less interest in the lecture he'd get for sneaking out, Harry instead spent the time poring over the map. He knew plenty of passages, but he hadn't realised just how many there were. There seemed to be hundreds, criss-crossing each other as they skipped floors or travelled from one side of the castle to the other in a few short steps. He tried to memorise some of the more useful looking ones – he couldn't have the map out all the time, especially when someone might see it. He shuddered to think of what some of the more vicious students would do if it fell into their hands. They would be able to set up ambushes for the victims of their bullying, and one part of Harry's brain was busy processing the potential for blackmail.

A glance at his watch told him he'd been staring at the map far longer than he had thought, so Harry spent the remaining hour or so practising his dodging and spell diversion before he eventually went down to the Great Hall for dinner. He grinned to himself as he made his way down the stairs – this was the first time he hadn't been hit with by a single spell. Now he just needed to do that while casting spells as well.

Susan and Neville weren't back yet so he sat at one end of the Hufflepuff table as more and more students returned from Hogsmeade, each laden with purchases. The twins winked at him across the hall and then went back to whispering with their friend Lee. Those around them watched suspiciously, and several even edged away down the table.

Fifteen minutes later and a full plate of food later, Harry was wondering where the hell Neville and Susan were. Almost everyone was back by now. Should he be worried? Had something happened? He was just about to start asking the students around him if they had seen them when they came hurrying in.

"Sorry," Neville said a little breathlessly as he started piling his plate with food, "we were just-"

"With Hannah," Harry cut in.

They both gaped at him, and after a few seconds their faces simultaneously pulled into a wince, as if he expecting him to blow up. Harry plastered a smile across his face before he looked back down at his plate, knowing that it wasn't meeting his eyes.

"You've been disappearing to see her for ages, even last year."

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew," he said as he glanced up from his plate and gave them a look that told them just how stupid their surprise was. "I'm not an idiot, and you're hardly subtle either. It doesn't take a genius to work it out when all three of you have disappeared, even if you arrive a couple of minutes after each other. I'd have had to be braindead not to notice."

"And you're not upset?"

Harry grabbed a bowl of mashed potatoes and slowly spooned them onto his plate.

"No. You've all been friends since before you were old enough to talk. It wouldn't be fair for me to expect you to cut her out of your lives. It wasn't you that she betrayed."

His voice sounded slightly too flat to their ears but they nodded nonetheless, far too relieved that he wasn't angry to pay it much mind. Sneaking around had always felt stupid, but they had been scared that he would take it as them betraying him too. Harry wasn't a particularly trusting individual, nor was he very forgiving to anyone who hurt him.

"How was Hogsmeade?" Harry asked a few seconds later.

"Bit anticlimactic if I'm honest," Neville said. "I mean, I like Zonko's stuff and Honeydukes as much as the next guy but other than that there's not much to do. There's the Three Broomsticks, of course, but you can't sit in there for hours and hours either without getting a bit bored. Butterbeer though, that was more than worth the trip. If you're still not allowed in next time I'll sneak a bottle back for you. I think Susan will agree with me when I say that no one deserves to miss out on that because of one escaped convict. She gulps the stuff down like no one's business," he said, ignoring Susan's affronted look, "you should honestly see her Harry. It's like the way Ron eats except with liquid."

"Anyway," Susan said quickly, still glaring at Neville, "what did you do while we were gone?"

"Just practised my magic," he shrugged.

"Where? In the same place you keep disappearing off to? Where is that?"

They frowned at him, clearly expecting him to answer. Harry returned their frown; it was a bit rich for them to be asking where he'd been sneaking off to when they'd just admitted to sneaking off for months to see Hannah. When it became clear that no answer was forthcoming, Neville pulled a huge bag of sugar quills from his bag with a dramatic sigh.

"Damn you, Longbottom," Harry muttered.

He _loved _sugar quills, but sugar quills alone would obviously never make him cave. Technically he could sneak into Hogsmeade and buy some himself, even if he'd be in a world of trouble as soon as word reached Hogwarts that he was seen there. It was the genuine concern on their faces that convinced him to give them something despite his irritation, even if it wasn't technically what they wanted. They were worried about him, he realised, even if he wasn't sure why.

"I've been trying to learn the Patronus charm. I don't really want to hear my parents die again."

Both Susan and Neville sucked in a breath.

"That's what you hear when they get close?" Neville asked quietly.

This was why he hadn't told them before, not even when they had both told him what they were made to relive. Susan remembered a broomstick accident that had nearly killed her, and Neville remembered being dropped from his window by his uncle as a child. They had both been too young to remember their parents being attacked, he supposed. He wasn't sure whether to be envious of that or not.

But when they had told him, he hadn't looked at them with the same awful pity as was now smeared all over their faces. He didn't need that. He didn't _want _that. He would much rather remember that his parents had loved him enough to die for him than he would his uncle trying to kill him or the terror of plummeting to earth. Not only did he not want their pity, he didn't deserve it either.

"Now give me my damn sugar quills, Longbottom."

Neville grinned at him, even if the sorrowed look in his eyes remained.

"_Your _sugar quills? Oh no, dear sir, I believe you must be mistaken. You see, these are _my_ sugar quills. I could be persuaded to share them, I suppose. Assuming, of course, that I can count on your help with my devilishly tricky runes essay?"

"I want at least half if you expect me to help _you _with runes. No offense, Neville, but you're bloody hopeless."

"Deal."

Harry rolled his eyes as he went back to his food. He knew that not even a fragment of the time they had asked about was actually spent practising the Patronus charm, but he certainly wasn't going to tell them the sort of spells he had learnt. The insistent idea to tell them about the Come and Go room again reared it's head, but with the ease of consistent practise Harry shook it away. The guilt still persisted though, even after all this time. The vast majority of it wasn't even about the Come and Go room at all; it was because of how little guilt he felt lying to them about it.

"I'll tell you what," he said suddenly, "next time I practise the Patronus you two can come too. Knowing what we know, I reckon it will be an important spell in the future."

Susan and Neville nodded gravely, and the guilt in his stomach receded a little.

**~Scene Change~**

Harry scowled to himself as he was dragged bleary eyed from his bed in the middle of the night. He'd been in a bad enough mood today as he always was on Halloween, his mood understandably dark as he watched people celebrate the anniversary of his parent's death. When he'd climbed into bed a few hours ago he'd thought that Halloween would pass without incident for the first time since he started Hogwarts, but clearly not. And could the damn prefect not have thought of a gentler way to wake him up than to come into the room and immediately blare what sounded like a particularly loud air horn? Why the hell were they being led to the Great Hall at quarter to midnight anyway?

Everyone else seemed to be in a similarly foul mood as they were escorted through the corridors. He heard one boy say that classes 'damn well better be cancelled tomorrow' to half-asleep hums of agreement. Beside him, Susan was desperately trying to wrestle her hair into some semblance of order before they reached the Great Hall.

When they reached the entrance hall Harry saw aurors swarming around while a man barked out orders from the side, his mane of brown hair wild. The Gryffindors, Slytherins, and Ravenclaws were already in the Great Hall when they were shepherded past the men who were stood stiffly on either side of the doors, and Harry could see the professors huddled around Dumbledore as he whispered instructions with a grave look on his face. The floor was littered with sleeping bags and pillows as confused looking students tried to work out what was going on.

"Harry! Sue!" Neville shouted from the side, ignoring the sharp glare that Percy Weasley gave him.

Harry and Susan darted over, picking their way between the clusters of sleeping bags and students as they huddled together. Harry brandished his wand towards a pair of empty sleeping bags and they came shooting over only to shudder to a stop at their feet. Susan whistled appreciatively and Harry smiled a little even despite his still sour mood.

"We haven't even learnt the summoning charm yet, and here you are doing it silently. How long have you been holding out on us?"

"Not too long," Harry shrugged. "I just didn't want to dishearten either of you or anything. I hadn't really bothered practising silent casting much anyway until the end of last year – I'd just been concentrating on learning the spells. I know it's supposed to be way harder and it was at first, but now I find it pretty much the same. Once I've cast something with the incantation I can do it silently after a few goes."

"You'll have to try and teach us silent casting next time we give the Patronus charm a go," Neville said.

Harry frowned. Twice he'd taken them to an abandoned classroom to try and practise the Patronus charm, and twice he'd failed to get beyond a bit of mist. Yes it was more mist than before but still. Susan had produced more mist on her first go. That grated a little even if it was outweighed by the pride he felt on her behalf.

"Sure. Any idea why we're here, Neville? I'm not insulting Dumbledore's conjuration abilities or anything but I'd much rather be in my bed."

Neville leaned forwards before he spoke, his voice a near whisper that was almost lost in the chattering of the hall.

"Sirius Black tried to break into Gryffindor tower. The Fat Lady recognised him and wouldn't let him in, so he destroyed her portrait."

Susan gasped.

"He was here? In the castle?"

Neville nodded gravely.

Harry could literally feel Susan's gaze burning into his skin. He knew that this would only further he belief that he should hand over the map to Dumbledore, but he certainly wasn't going to do that. She'd stopped pushing once he told them that his dad had made it, knowing that if she forced him to hand it over he would never forgive her. Surprisingly, Neville agreed with him even before he told them who had made the map. After last year Neville didn't trust the professors with anything.

He just didn't understand how Black had even got into the castle. He had made the map so assumedly knew about the passages that led out of the castle, but none of the human detection charms he had put over the entrances had tripped. They were only simple spells and easy to cancel once you knew they were there, but he'd cast them in such a way that as soon as anyone stepped out they should have been triggered. Black shouldn't have had time to counter them. The only passage he hadn't charmed was the one under the Whomping Willow, but there was no way Black had got through its swinging branches unscathed. The question remained: how had he got in?

"I just don't understand why he would try to break into Gryffindor tower when Harry is in Hufflepuff."

"Maybe he doesn't know that? Or maybe he's just insane. Twelve years with dementors ought to do that at the very least."

"No," Harry said slowly, "he was sane enough to escape from Azkaban even though it was thought to be inescapable, and he was sane enough to sneak past the dementors, the aurors, the professors, even the portraits to get to Gryffindor tower without anyone being the wiser. If he's sane enough to do all that, he's sane enough to make sure his target is where he thinks it is. I don't think he was after me."

"What's he after then?"

"Maybe he hid something in Gryffindor tower for safekeeping when he was at Hogwarts and now he needs it back?" Susan said.

Harry shrugged. It was as good a theory as any, but none of them could pretend to know how the mind of Sirius Black would work, not after twelve years of dementors. Thoughts gnawed at Harry as he climbed into his sleeping bag and let the low muttering wash over him. If Black wasn't here for him, why was he here? The doubts he had about Black gained more strength. What if they were all wrong? Sirius Black had loved James Potter as a brother, that much was clear from the memories Lupin had showed him. Why would he betray them? Or had all that affection been an act the whole time?

From then on Harry stopped sneaking out at night to go to the Come and Go room and he checked the map every night before he went to bed, but not once did he see any name that shouldn't be there.

**~Scene Change~**

Harry hissed in annoyance yet again. He, Neville, and Susan were stood in an old classroom trying to practise the Patronus charm just as they had been for weeks. Harry had first started them on the basics of silent casting, and both had taken to it surprisingly well given how difficult it was supposed to be. He couldn't help them much more – it was more a case of practise – so they had swiftly moved on to the Patronus charm.

Neville could now create a small cloud of squirming mist about the same size as Harry's was and Susan's spell had formed a very thin, delicate looking shield. It had taken a lot out of her and they all agreed it was unlikely to hold up against a dementor, but it was still very impressive. Susan was flushed with happiness as she said how proud her aunt would be that she could form even that in her third year. She was determined to produce a corporeal patronus before they went home for Christmas in a few days and, knowing Susan and therefore how much time she would pour into it, both Harry and Neville believed she could do it before they boarded the train. They were both a bit sore, however, that they were so far behind.

"I think we should ask a professor for some help," Susan said while Neville caught his breath after his attempt. "I know it's a difficult spell but for the amount of time we've spent on it we must be doing something wrong, especially considering Harry can't do it and he can do everything."

She smiled playfully at him and, despite his annoyance at his continued failure, he smiled back.

"Who?"

"Well we know that Lupin can already do it, so probably him."

Neville nodded and the two of them looked towards Harry, as if asking whether it would be okay. They both knew and agreed with his hesitance around the man; they were both orphans too, and neither would forgive someone who tried to keep their relationship to their lost parents a secret. Also, neither wanted to intrude on any relationship that Harry and Lupin might slowly be forming.

"Might as well," Harry said with a shrug.

From what he could work out Lupin was genuinely remorseful about not coming to find him years ago. That made him a little more receptive to his attempts to form a sincere attachment, though his hesitance still remained. There was still something about Lupin that put him off. His dad had adored Remus Lupin though, as had his mother, so in some way he felt like he owed it to his parents to at least try. Neville and Susan had both tried to dissuade him from that notion, but it still hung in the back of his mind.

Regardless, they needed to learn the charm and quickly. Harry had noticed the way that the dementors would stray a little closer to the castle as time went on and he had heard the tales from Hogsmeade that were conspicuously absent from the Prophet. Just last week an auror had driven a dementor away from a witch who lived in Hogsmeade just in the nick of time. The witch had survived, but it had been a close run thing. The dementors were getting restless. It amazed him that Fudge continued to keep them here.

Susan practically ran from the room, and Neville and Harry shared an amused look as they followed her through the corridors towards the defence classroom. The two boys chatted as they walked, ignoring the impatience that was rolling off Susan from a few steps ahead. Their conversation was quickly cut off, however, when another group wandered into the corridor. Su Li and Lisa from Ravenclaw, Ernie, Justin, Eleanor, Megan, Wayne, and Hannah. Neville and Susan slowed right down and glanced at him, as if worried he would throw a fit. He ignored their looks and carried on walking, not so much as glancing at the group until Hannah's voice grated against his ears.

"Harry?"

He turned to look at her, his expression worryingly blank but for the slight raise of an eyebrow.

"In divination earlier – I know people say that divination is just made up, but it's not. At least I don't think it is. I'm no seer, not an actual one, but sometimes my predictions have come true. My tea cup said I was going to suffer, and then in the next lesson I had a really bad allergic reaction to the niffler in care of magical creatures!" she rambled nervously. "Anyway, earlier on I saw you in my crystal ball-"

Susan thought she saw Harry hide a sneer before his empty expression fell back into place.

"-and you were doing something dangerous. At least I think it was dangerous – I only saw a second. It was all dark and gloomy, and everything in the room was broken. And then I saw you outside, and then a spell came at you. I don't know what happened after that. Just thought you should know, just in case. I don't want you getting attacked or something."

Harry looked at her silently for a few seconds, seemingly ignorant to the growing awkwardness.

"Okay," he said blandly, and then he turned and walked off down the hall without another word or glance.

Susan and Neville looked awkwardly around before they hurried after him with a final sad smile at Hannah.

"Harry," Susan said once they'd caught up.

"Don't."

They winced at the flatness of his tone, and not another word was said until they reached the defence corridor. Susan seemed to suddenly remember where it was they were going and why as she hurried ahead of them, her earlier eagerness now very much back.

She knocked enthusiastically, and a few moments later Professor Lupin opened the door with a tired smile.

"Ah, good evening Susan, Harry, Neville. What can I help you with?"

"We've been practising the Patronus charm," Susan said quickly, "but we can't get it to work properly. As you can cast it, do you think you can help us?"

Lupin looked sceptical of three third years ever being able to cast such a complicated charm but opened his door a little wider nonetheless.

"Show me what you've managed so far."

The three of them filed in and seemed to have a silent discussion between them while Lupin flicked his wand to clear a space until Neville finally drew his wand. Just as before, both he and Harry produced a thick bulb of fog that shifted and squirmed until they finally gave up and cancelled the spell. Susan's shield was a little more substantial this time, and Lupin stared at it intently before she too gave in.

_The power isn't the problem_, Remus thought to himself, which in itself was quite surprising. He'd known the three of them were powerful, but even fully grown wizards struggled to push the necessary power into the spell. Some even passed out, but Neville and Susan were merely panting. Harry didn't look fatigued at all. Remus pushed aside his surprise and smiled to himself. He hadn't been able to carve out the time to teach this spell to his sixth or seventh years yet, so this would be the first time he got to teach it.

"Very impressive," he smiled as he strolled around in front of them, "could you tell me exactly what you're doing when you try to cast?"

"Exactly what the book said," Harry said with frustration clear in his voice, "concentrate with everything you have on a single very happy memory, then say the incantation. You shouldn't even have to think about pushing power into it; the charm will take the power itself."

Lupin nodded to himself.

"Well then I think I know how to help you. The problem with powerful spells such as the Patronus charm is that so few people are able to cast it, and as a result little personal tricks often become part of the instruction. You see, for some people concentrating on a memory is what works. I am not one of those people, and I suspect the three of you aren't either. I'd be willing to bet that you all concentrated on the very fine details of your chosen memory – the way the light reflected off things in the background, the exact colours and smells and sounds. Yes?"

The three of them nodded.

"Like I said," Lupin continued, "for some people that may work. For Neville and Harry it clearly doesn't, and though it works somewhat well for Susan it seems not to be the best approach. Now, what works for me may not work for you either. I know people who have to concentrate on a very specific thing to cast a patronus – a specific memory, or even a specific taste, a smell, a sound – and others that are much more general about it. A place, maybe, or even a person, and then their mind fills with anything it associates with that general concept. In those cases the emotion isn't the focus at all, though it is still important, and even the emotion needed varies from person to person. It must be positive, yes, but there are countless emotions that can be called positive, and others that can be twisted to become positive in some way. That is what makes the patronus charm so difficult, not simply the power that it requires.

"When I cast the spell, I concentrate entirely on one single emotion and therefore everything that that emotion entails. Every memory, person, place, smell or sound that that emotion is linked to swims through my mind, and then I say the incantation."

"What emotion, Professor?" Susan asked.

Lupin glanced towards Harry with a sad smile.

"Friendship."

There was a long silence, and then Harry pulled his wand. Friendship was as good a place to start as any. He was a Hufflepuff, after all. He concentrated entirely on Susan and Neville and Dudley and all his friends from home, remembering jokes long since pulled and playing football in the park until the sun had set.

"_Expecto patronum," _he said softly.

A thick, silvery shield flared to life in front of him. Harry grinned. The sea of faces crested and broke, and then Susan's face was replaced by Hannah's. Bitterness and hurt flared in his stomach, and the spell died.

"Very good, Harry. Very good. Maybe try a different emotion, though I would say you're looking for one quite similar to what you just tried. As I said, there is no fixed answer. The only restriction is that the emotion must be positive."

Harry frowned to himself as Neville's face took on a serene expression.

"_Expecto patronum," _he murmured.

He too produced a thick dome, except his seemed to have a figure desperately trying to burst from the centre of it. Harry could see the tips of two curved horns poking out before Neville cancelled the spell and leant on his knees, breathing heavily but with a grin on his face.

"Excellent Neville! Really well done. That was very nearly corporeal."

Susan looked absolutely determined when Lupin came to her. She closed her eyes as she lifted her wand, and if anything her expression became even more resolute. She looked strangely angry when she finally said the incantation.

"_Expecto patronum,"_

Her voice came out as growl and a near opaque silver shield sprung from the tip of her wand. Almost instantly the middle seemed to explode outwards, and then there was a long, thin, snarling animal scrambling through the air in search of threats. It's back was solid silver that thinned as it dripped down to form short little legs with long, sharp looking claws. It's mouth was open, exposing pointed teeth that looked more than capable of ripping a dementor to pieces.

A honey badger.

Susan squealed as her patronus came to a stop in front of Lupin, seeming to scrutinise him for a second before it looked around the room a final time and faded away.

"Amazing," Lupin said as Susan yanked Neville and Harry into a hug, "I knew aurors who couldn't cast a corporeal patronus. Your aunt will be incredibly proud when she hears."

Somehow, Susan's smile grew even larger.

"Now then, who's next? Neville? Have you recovered enough to have another go or shall we let Harry go first?"

Neville shook his head and raised his wand once more. His face took on the same serene expression, only this time it stayed that way for a few extra seconds before he cast the spell. A huge buffalo surged from his wand, as tall as Lupin was. It's horns were lowered in a charge as it sprinted around the room until Neville eventually let go of the spell and it faded from sight. The shock on his face gave way to joy as he pumped a fist in the air, and he and Harry exchanged a complicated handshake while Lupin looked on in a mix of amusement and sadness. He remembered James and The Traitor doing something similar.

"You're up, Harry."

Harry stood still for a few seconds, considering which emotion to use. In the end, he closed his eyes, lowered his occlumency barriers and let his mind fill with whatever it wanted. He saw he and Dudley playing video games together and heard the cry of anguish when he inevitably won. He saw he and his Aunt Petunia sat at the kitchen table with hot chocolate and all the times she listened to him vent about his troubles. And then, finally, he saw his parents faces hovering over his cot and heard his mother's voice, pleading for his life.

"_Expecto patronum,"_

A silvery stag burst from his wand and galloped around the room with its head held up proudly. Once it had assured itself that there were no dementors nearby, it trotted back towards Harry and came to a stop in front of him with it's head bowed curiously. Slowly, Harry reached up to stroke the flat of its nose, and he felt a brief sensation of warmth against his palm before it sank slowly through.

"Prongs," he heard Lupin murmur.

"What?"

Lupin seemed to have forgotten they were even there as he stared at the stag with a desperate, longing look on his face. It was only when Harry let his patronus fade away that he seemed to realise where he was and who was there.

"Ah," Lupin coughed awkwardly, "your father… his patronus was the same."

It was the truth, but from the hesitance in Lupin's voice it was only half of it. Harry supposed something must have shown on his face because Lupin started to pace in agitation, seeming to have an internal struggle about something and sending occasional glances through the window as the full moon slowly drifted out from behind the clouds. A pained look flashed across his face when the moonlight hit his skin, and suddenly everything seemed to click into place in Harry's mind. Lupin's unexplained monthly absences and the way he would look sickly in the days leading up to and immediately following them. The silvery orb Lupin's boggart had become. His nickname was Moony for God's sake! How had he not realised before?

"You're a werewolf, aren't you?"

Neville and Susan both gasped. Lupin flinched.

"How long have you known?" he asked, sounding oddly resigned.

"About five seconds, though I probably should have figured it out when I found out what your nickname was. I'd assumed it was because of your name. Remus, the legendary founder of Rome who was raised by a wolf, and Lupin, Latin, I think, for wolf."

"Latin for wolf-like, yes," Lupin said, looking rather amused despite his pale features, "your father always found it terribly funny. It is rather ironic – they used to say my parents were tempting fate the day I was born."

Neville and Susan were both pale and clutching their wands but Harry, who had never heard the horror stories of Fenrir Greyback and the werewolves of the war, couldn't understand why their eyes were darting around in fear. He was an entirely normal wizard when he wasn't transformed. What were they so scared of?

"Dumbledore let a _werewolf_ teach here?" Neville said, shocked.

"He had to spend a great deal of time persuading certain teachers-"

"Snape, you mean," Harry interrupted. He'd seen in Lupin's memories the vicious glares Snape would send the marauders from their very first year.

"Severus was the most vocal," Lupin said, smiling thinly, "but he wasn't the only one who opposed the decision. Dumbledore managed to convince them eventually, and I'll forever be grateful to him for that. This is the first steady job I've had in the past four years – werewolves are discriminated against quite heavily in the wizarding world, and even in the muggle world taking sick days every month to recover is not acceptable for most employers.

"He's always been kind to me, Dumbledore. It was he who allowed me to attend Hogwarts when my parents feared I would never get the chance, even going to the extent of building me somewhere I could transform without posing a danger to anyone else. And I had friends, for the first time in my life I had friends. But, of course, my absences did not go unnoticed by my new friends. I made excuses but it didn't take long for them to figure it out. And, instead of shunning me, instead of abandoning me like so many would, they did something that made my transformations not only bearable, but among the very best times of my life. They became Animagi."

"And my dad was a stag," Harry breathed.

"He was. Sirius was a huge black dog, and Peter was a rat. I'm ashamed to say that that made me suspect him as the spy before Sirius…" he swallowed as his fists clenched at his side, "before Sirius showed his true colours."

"Is that how he escaped Azkaban?" Neville asked.

"No," Lupin said as he shook his head, "if he could escape by simply turning into a dog he would have done so years ago. Certainly before Harry was safe behind the wards of Hogwarts. No, he must have got lucky somehow, or it simply took time to lay the plans for his escape."

To Harry's ears, Lupin seemed to be assuring himself more than he was trying to assure them. There was a slight note of guilt to his voice as well, though Harry wasn't sure why there would be. Before he could ask about it anymore, however, Lupin glanced at his watch.

"It seems time has gotten away from us," he said, sounding vaguely relieved, "it's already gone curfew. I would normally insist on escorting you back to your common rooms, but given that tonight is the full moon I'd best lock myself away as soon as possible. Though, I imagine the three of you will have no trouble getting back by yourselves."

With that Lupin waved his wand to return the desks to their proper position and walked slowly towards his desk. He frowned when he looked at the steaming silver goblet on his desk and then, with a final grimace, he gulped it down.

"Wolfsbane potion," he explained at their confused looks. "Severus has been kind enough to brew it for me. Helps me keep my mind when I transform you see, so that I simply become an ordinary but rather sleepy wolf."

"Thank you for helping us with the Patronus charm," Susan said quietly.

"You're more than welcome. I just hope that my sixth and seventh years take to it as well as you when I manage to find the time to teach it to them."

The three of them left with a final, somewhat awkward smile and crept along the corridor towards the main staircase. Susan and Neville seemed rather keen to discuss what had just happened before Harry hissed at them to be quiet and pulled out the map. Neville and Susan scanned the corridors in search of the swaying light of Filch's lamp, cursing the fact that they were now too big to all fit under the cloak.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Filch was up on the fifth floor, as were a couple of seventh years who were likely about to have their secret rendezvous rudely interrupted. There were a few prefects patrolling the third floor and all the professors were in their chambers, with the exception of Snape who was stalking across the dungeons towards his private lab. By the time they would reach the entrance hall they'd have a clear run to the common room and Neville already had a clear run to Gryffindor tower. But, just as he was about to put the map away, he saw another name.

Peter Pettigrew.

**AN: As there isn't really opportunity to explain it in the chapters, I'm going with the theory that the Marauders charmed the map so that they wouldn't appear on it when they are in their animagus form unless the person using the map already knows their form. That's the only way I can explain Fred and George never noticed the supposedly dead man in their brother's dorm.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

How was that possible? Peter Pettigrew was dead. Black had killed him along with twelve innocent muggles. But yet, here he was, scampering across the grounds and towards the passage beneath the Whomping Willow. Was it possible the map was wrong? It had never been wrong before.

If Peter was still alive then that meant that Black hadn't killed him. And if Black hadn't killed him, what else hadn't Black done? Why would Peter Pettigrew, wizarding hero, holder of the Order of Merlin, fake his own death for twelve years? Innocent men didn't hide.

"Harry?"

He heard Susan's voice as if from a distance as he watched Pettigrew's name run over the edge of the map. He looked up at his friends for a moment, and then without a word started sprinting through the corridors. Down the staircase and into the entrance hall, and as he squeezed through the quickly closing doors he heard Neville and Susan begging him to stop.

His friends were desperately trying to keep up as he flew across the grounds towards the Whomping Willow. As soon as he got close he saw the great tree's branches shiver to life, and a few steps later he heard them whistling through the air. He was forced to duck to keep his head, but before the next swipe of it's branches reached him he cast a summoning charm on the base of the tree. Instead of pulling the tree towards him, the charm pulled him towards it. He had hoped to be pulled straight into the tunnel but instead clattered into the willow's trunk, and then, abruptly, it's branches creaked to a stop.

"Harry! What the hell is going on?"

"Pettigrew…. is here… the map…" he wheezed, trying to pull air into his lungs to replace what a particularly large knot had knocked out of him, "showed him disappear… into the tunnel,"

"Well the map must be wrong. Peter Pettigrew is dead," Susan insisted.

Harry didn't deem that worthy of a response as he slid through the wide gap in the willlow's roots and started crawling along the tunnel. Neville looked worriedly at Susan before he followed, and after a second's hesitation she yanked twice on her necklace and crawled in after them. She just hoped her Aunt came quickly.

The tunnel soon raised so that they were able to rush, bent-double, through the twists and turns until they saw a sliver of light shining through a thin gap. Harry barely paused to raise his wand before he burst through and into a dusty room with splintered furniture strewn across the floor and mould creeping across the ceiling. Susan looked towards Neville worriedly. Dark, gloomy, destroyed. It was just like Hannah had warned them about.

There were frantic footsteps and a loud bang upstairs, and Harry didn't even look at them before he crept out into the hall and up the stairs with silent footsteps. Neville and Susan followed behind as they glanced nervously around at the boarded-up windows and the deep gouges that scarred the walls.

They heard a faint muttering when they reached the top of the stairs, drifting out from below the door across the landing.

"Finally. Finally, I've got you. After all these years…"

The voice was hoarse from years of disuse and coloured with gleeful madness, and Neville shivered when it devolved into giggles and cackles. It made the hair on the back of Susan's neck stand up on end and sent a shiver shooting down her spine. Harry, on the other hand, looked about to cross the landing before she grabbed his arm in a vice grip, furiously shaking her head.

"It's Black!" she hissed.

He looked towards the door and then back to her and Neville.

"Stay here."

She glared at him. As if she was going to let him confront Sirius Black by himself! The man was You-Know-Who's right hand for Merlin's sake! He had betrayed Harry's parents! She let him go in there alone, one of them would die. Of that she was sure.

Harry yanked his arm from her grip and crept across the hall. She and Neville followed after a split second's hesitation. Once they reached him he glanced between them and then shoved the door open, the tip of his wand already glowing a poisonous yellow.

The room was a mess; broken furniture littered the floor and an icy wind whistled through a shattered window, making the moth-bitten curtains billow outwards. A ginger cat was purring happily as it lay curled up on a once comfortable armchair in the corner. Next to it was a huge four poster bed that was criss-crossed by deep slashes from which white fluff exploded, and sprawled face down on the floor in front of it was Black. He twitched when the door banged against the wall, pale waxy skin stretching across his limbs as he moved. Bare feet jutted from the bottom of tattered grey robes, the soles raw and littered with bloody cuts, and his long black hair was scraggly and grey in places. He looked like a walking corpse.

Black pushed himself from the floor with one hand and spun round to face them while the other hand clutched a thin, greying rat. He didn't seem to notice that it was biting desperately at his fingers to try and escape even as blood dribbled down his hand.

"Harry," Black said breathlessly, his rotting teeth bared in a smile.

"Is that Pettigrew?" Harry demanded.

The smile twisted into a snarl as Black stared down at the rat in his hand. The rat's squeaking was momentarily cut off when he squeezed, it's eyes seeming to bulge from its head.

"This is the traitor," Black spat, "the bastard who betrayed James and Lily. I've been dreaming about killing him for years. So many different ways to do it, so many _ideas_. I just haven't decided how best to do it yet."

"He was the secret keeper?"

Black's hateful expression was briefly tempered by guilt until the hate flared to push it back again.

"It was my idea. We knew there was a spy somewhere and everyone would expect me to be James's secret keeper, so that's what we told people. No one would ever expect poor, pathetic Peter Pettigrew of being trusted with something so important, so he would be safe while Voldemort came after me. That way, even if Voldemort tortured me to the point I would have wanted to tell him, just to make it end, I couldn't. We never suspected Peter as the spy. My idea got James and Lily killed."

Tears were cutting through the dirt on Black's cheek even despite the feral snarl that was still writhing on his face as he glared down at the rat in his hand. Harry felt a sliver of pity before it was drowned in fury.

"Can you force him to change?"

Black nodded and held out a hand, seemingly asking for a wand. The look on his face could only be described as hungry.

"You think we're just going to give you a wand?" Neville cried, the slightest of tremors dancing in his voice, "Just because you say that's Pettigrew doesn't mean it is. That could just be a normal rat, and as soon as you get a wand you'll just try and kill Harry!"

Harry's wand had dropped to his side despite the fact that it was still glowing the same ugly yellow, but both Susan's and Neville's were still pointing straight at Black's chest. Black's eyes seemed to flicker for a moment.

"You're Frank and Alice's boy. I'm sorry about what my cousin did to them; they were my friends. If you won't give me a wand, one of you will have to cast the spell to turn Peter here back to his disgusting self," Black said with another firm squeeze, seemingly to take great pleasure in the rat's shuddering breaths, "There is no wand movement, and the incantation is _reverte animagi. _Make it quick though; I have waited twelve years for this."

"One of you do it," Harry murmured, staring at the squirming rat, "if I do it I won't stop at one spell."

Neville stepped forwards as Black held out the hand that was clutched around the rat, which seemed to struggle even harder as Neville raised his wand.

"_Reverte animagi,"_

The rat seemed to bulge in Black's fist until he was forced to drop it, and then there a flash of bright light. Harry flinched instinctively, but instead of a curse shooting across the room a head shot up from the floor. The rat's tail was sucked in and it's limbs burst outwards as the rest of it seemed to inflate like a balloon. And then, cowering on the ground against the wall, was a snivelling little man.

"Harry, please," Pettigrew gasped, his eyes darting around the room, "he's lying! I would never – you've got to believe me!"

Black's face contorted.

"How _dare _you speak to Harry after what you did! After you sold out his parents to Voldemort!"

Pettigrew flinched as if struck. Black snarled and lunged at him, desperately kicking and punching anywhere he could until Harry flicked his wand and Black was thrown off, breathing heavily as he continued to glare hatefully at Pettigrew.

"Th-thank you, Ha-"

Pettigrew's voice died in his throat as Harry crouched in front of him, and the relief at having Black pulled off him swiftly evaporated.

"Hello, Peter."

It was only now, in the quiet, that Susan and Neville felt it. The thick, oozing aura that seemed to be crawling from Harry's pores, seeping across the floorboards and climbing up their legs. It wasn't fury. There was no roaring anger or fiery wrath. It was chilling. _Freezing._ A whispered promise of pain and death that could echo across all eternity until, finally, the promise was fulfilled. It made them shudder.

Harry was deep in thought as Pettigrew trembled in front of him, even as a part of him shivered in delight at the tangible fear in the rat's eyes. What was an appropriate punishment, he wondered? For a man who had betrayed his friends in service to a man who had torn apart so many thousands of lives and, in doing so, taken his parents from him. Who had allowed an innocent man to spend _twelve years _in hell on earth, constantly tormented by the worst experiences of his life. What did all that _deserve_? What was fair? To have the blood boiled in his veins? The skin torn from his muscles? To have his heart squeezed tighter and tighter until, finally, it burst in his chest?

Harry honestly wasn't sure.

"Susan," he said quietly, innocently, almost, "your aunt is the head of the DMLE. How important is Peter here to proving Black's innocence?"

Susan gulped and glanced towards Neville while Black stared at Harry with frightening intensity.

"Very important, I think."

"But Black doesn't have the Dark Mark and Peter does. Would just that not be enough, especially considering the fact he didn't die twelve years ago?"

By the look on Neville face, he too noticed the way that Harry hadn't said "considering the fact he's still alive".

"No," Susan said, swallowing hard, "they would just say Black put it on him and that Black doesn't have the mark because he was a spy, so it would have been too risky."

Harry hummed for a second, still crouched in front of Pettigrew and still staring straight at him. The fact that he was arguing about a man's usefulness dead versus alive didn't seem to bother him. They would have expected Pettigrew to try and escape but he just continued to cower, pinned to the wall by Harry's gaze. This icy malevolence was new, nothing like the hissing, spitting rage he had shown when Susan was petrified. It was a magnitude more terrifying.

"So how will he be more useful alive?" he asked curiously, "He could just lie in his testimony."

Neville cleared his throat.

"They'll use veritaserum. It's not normally used because it's possible to resist, albeit extremely difficult. You'd have to be stubborn as hell, magically powerful and be well versed in the Mind Arts to manage it, and I don't think Pettigrew is any of those things. I think that Legilimency can be used at the same time to make sure they're being truthful, but people still don't trust it sometimes because the Legilimens can lie as well."

"And after the trial?"

There was something dark lurking in the depths of his otherwise innocently curious voice, but they did their best to pretend it wasn't there even as another shudder slinked up their spines.

"He'll probably be sentenced to Azkaban for the rest of his life. It would be fitting for him to suffer like he made Black suffer."

Harry hummed again, this time seemingly in agreement, but still his wand remained pointed at Pettigrew's terrified form.

"Harry," Black said quietly, his horase voice cracking, "I know what you're thinking. James and Lily wouldn't want you to."

Silence slipped past for several long moments before a red bolt of light shot out of Harry's wand. Neville and Susan both cringed, fearing the worst, and let out audible sighs when Pettigrew slumped over sideways, unconcious. Another wave of his wand bound Pettigrew tightly in ropes, and then Harry cast a body bind for good measure.

"We'll take him and Black back to the castle and then send a message to your aunt," he said, still not looking away from Pettigrew. "She can take care of proving Black innocent and with Pettigrew's punishment, although…"

He cast a bone breaker at each of Pettigrew's knees, and then another one for good measure. Just in case the first one didn't work properly, he told himself. His wand stayed pointed at Pettigrew for a few seconds, its tip glowing a dim purple until he eventually flicked his wand back into its holster.

"Just to make sure he can't get away," he shrugged as he turned to face them.

All three people present were staring at him, shocked, and for the life of him he couldn't understand why. Neville and Susan he would have thought would be unsurprised. They must understand, surely, given what happened to their own parents. And even if they didn't, they knew how he had acted when Susan was petrified last year. He'd manged to curb the impulsiveness that had controlled him then but the emotion was still very much the same, if more intense. Would they act any different if those that had killed _their _parents were sat in front of them?

As for Black, well, from what he knew the Black family was as vicious as they came. A member of the Black family would have done far worse than simply break a few bones, just like Harry was having to hold himself back from doing. Black himself had been itching to kill Pettigrew just moments ago.

It was Susan that finally broke the uneasy silence by asking the question that had been buzzing around Harry's mind ever since he'd been able to wrestle his hate into submission.

"How did you get Pettigrew here?"

Black barked out a rough, grating laugh as he dragged his eyes off Harry and towards the still purring cat.

"This guy brought him to me."

The cat lifted it's head up and seemed to smile at the praise, it's flattened face twisting into a strange type of grin. Neville gasped.

"Crookshanks? Hermione's cat?"

"The smartest creature I've ever met, he is," Black said as he gently stroked the ugly creature. "He recognised Peter for what he was, and when he met me he knew I wasn't just a dog. It took a while, but I managed to tell him what I wanted and why I was here. He didn't like Peter anyway so he was all too happy to help. Peter's been hiding with the Weasleys all these years, acting like a pet – that way if any news about his master reaches the public he can run back to him and claim that he was spying on one of Dumbledore's most trusted allies. Once I failed to get him in Gryffindor tower Peter started hiding, but my friend here found him eventually. Snatched him up in his mouth, and even if Peter had transformed he would have ripped holes in himself from Crookshanks's teeth as he grew. You said that was his name, right? Crookshanks? Well, Crookshanks brought Peter here, and then you three burst in."

Harry felt faintly nauseated at the idea of being thankful to Hermione Granger in any capacity, even if it was just to her cat, and Neville had become very pale. He'd been sleeping in the same room as a grown man for the past two years? And not only a grown man, a Death Eater? He felt the sudden urge to shower and maybe get a medical scan. Who knew what Pettigrew could have done while he was sleeping.

"What do we do now?"

"We wait for my aunt to arrive, then we hand both Pettigrew and Black over to her so that she can set up trials."

"Be nice to finally get one," Black muttered. Susan looked at him in shock.

"You never had a trial?"

"Nope, ol' Barty Crouch couldn't be bothered with that. Just threw me straight in Azkaban."

Susan looked like something in her had cracked as she continued to stare up at Black until it gave way to righteous anger.

"Um," Neville said as he cleared his throat, "I think Mr Black should stay in hiding for now instead of giving himself up to the aurors."

Black seemed faintly amused by the formality behind his curious expression. Neville hurried to explain when he felt Susan's indignant look, clearly having taken his words as a slight against her aunt.

"Malfoy gets a lot of his political power because of the Black family, as Draco is technically the closest male relative to the inheritance line. You could probably challenge it, Harry, because you're related through your grandmother and both you and Malfoy are pretty distant as far as inheritance goes, and then it would come down to whoever the family ring chooses. Well, probably. I'm not an expert on it, and the exact process varies between families-"

"Neville," Susan said, "get to the point."

"Right," he said, glancing between Black and Harry, who was still staring at Pettigrew's limp form. "If Sirius gets taken into Ministry custody with Pettigrew, Malfoy's going to hear about it. And then he'll do whatever he has to do to make sure that he keeps a hold of the Black family."

"He needn't bother," Black spat, "I was disowned anyway."

"I doubt it," Neville said after a few seconds of thoughtful quiet. "It would have been pretty stupid to disown the only family member that wasn't supporting Vol-... who wasn't supporting You-Know-Who. What if he lost, just like he ended up doing? As long as you're technically a Black, any of them could just claim they were helping you from the shadows. Spying or something. That way the Black family as a whole can't really lose."

Black's scowl faded into a strange sort of a smile, and then he started chuckling softly to himself.

"That does sound like Arcturus. Always whatever was best for the family," he muttered bitterly.

"You'll have to go to Gringotts to check, but if we work under the assumption that you're not disowned," Neville continued, "then Malfoy will either try to make sure you're found guilty with bribes and threats, or he'll have you killed. More likely that, considering its Malfoy. And no offense to your aunt, Susan, but Malfoy is more than capable of bribing a guard or two."

Susan nodded begrudgingly. Her aunt couldn't do anything about that. There just weren't enough people who wanted to be aurors for them to be picky – she knew full well that some of them would kill Black in his cell for what Malfoy would describe as pocket change.

"Do you have somewhere you can stay?" she asked as she looked at Black.

The man scowled.

"I should do – the house I grew up in, or at least I did until I was kicked out. After that I stayed with the Potters, but as all the Potter properties were destroyed I'll have to go back to that hellhole for a little while, until I finally get a trial at least."

Harry smothered a frown at Black's presumption that he would be welcomed into one of the Potter properties. He had prioritised revenge over the child of his best friend, the heir to the Potter family; until he explained himself adequately, Black could be neither trusted nor relied upon as far as Harry was concerned. Harry chose not to mention that the goblins had written to say that the renovations at his house were now complete, and that he need only go to Gringotts to retrieve the portkey.

"Alright then, we'll take Pettigrew to my aunt and you go to that house. I'll tell my aunt about you privately, and then we'll contact you about arrangements to prove your innocence," Susan said sternly, clearly trying to channel what she had seen of her aunt when she was on duty. At any other time Harry would have found it funny. "Make sure letters get in to where you're staying."

Black nodded and looked at Harry with equal measures of mournfulness and longing. He seemed to struggle with himself for a few moments, and then the longing slowly bled away.

"You look so much like James," he said as the longing in his eyes flared for a second, "but you're not like him. Much more like Lily, I think, and even more like Charlus. They'd be furious at me; I went after Peter instead of looking after you, and because of that I ended up in Azkaban and you…"

He trailed off, looking at Harry questioningly.

"With my Aunt Petunia."

Black scowled, and Harry felt a fierce surge of defensiveness.

"I was very lucky," he said, "she brought me up extremely well and I know that she loves me. I wouldn't be half of what I am now without her."

Black smiled, haunted grey eyes seeming to crinkle in apology.

"Lily always spoke about her fondly, even after she went to Hogwarts and they fell out. I never met her, only heard some stories about her and her husband that Lily's parents had told her. Not a nice man from the sounds of it, or at least he wasn't back then," he said, trying to be diplomatic.

Harry shook his head. "Aunt Petunia divorced him when I was four."

"Well I'm glad you grew up happy; at least my mistake didn't cost you your childhood like I've feared for the past twelve years. I'd like it if we saw each other once I've been proved innocent, assuming everything goes well. Or we can write if you prefer; I know it must be strange for you to suddenly have another person in your life, and one who you've probably spent a good while hating. I am technically your Godfather, even if I don't deserve that title after all this."

Harry gave a small nod in agreement and Black smiled widely. He looked like he wanted to hug him but wisely held himself back.

"We'll go back out the tunnel with Pettigrew while you go out another way into the forest," Susan said. "There might be some aurors around but they should mostly be in Hogwarts. It shouldn't be too hard for you to avoid them."

"Thank you," Black replied.

There were a few seconds of awkward silence before Black left the room with a vicious kick to Pettigrew's ribs and a final heavy look at Harry. Neville and Susan were looking at him strangely, but Harry ignored them as he levitated Pettigrew up with a wordless flick of his wand. They followed him silently down the stairs while Harry bashed Pettigrew into as many walls, corners, and bits of furniture as he could until they reached the tunnel.

Harry reached a hand around to paw at the willow's trunk until he finally found the knot he had clattered into earlier, correctly assuming that that would somehow stop the tree from trying to kill him. Once the creaking of branches subsided, he levitated Pettigrew out of the tunnel and clambered out after him.

He saw red light flare to his right and acted on instinct, allowing Pettigrew's body to drop to the floor so that he could swat the incoming spell away. His near instantaneous reply shot across the grass until it smacked into a silver shield with a loud, echoing gong. It was only then that he processed their deep red auror robes, even if he remained ready to fight if needed. Anybody could wear red robes.

"Everyone! Wands down!" Madam Bones shouted as she dropped the shield that had stopped one of her men from being torn apart.

Harry kept his wand raised while the aurors obeyed Madam Bones order, though her eyes didn't leave him even as Neville emerged from the tunnel.

"That was a very unpleasant spell, Harry."

"I'm sure you understand my defensiveness given what happened last time someone cursed me," he said as he continued to watch the aurors suspiciously.

Madam Bones pursed her lips, but luckily Susan crawling from the tunnel snatched her attention before she could say anything else to him.

"Susan, what happened?" she asked as she and her aurors slowly approached.

Susan's eyes flickered before she pointed towards the body on the ground behind Harry in reply.

"That's Peter Pettigrew."

Madam Bones frowned while the aurors started whispering between themselves behind her.

"Peter Pettigrew is dead," one insisted with a rasp, "saw the aftermath myself. All we found of him was a finger – Black blew up the damn street so bad the rest of him was splattered all over the walls."

Harry almost snorted at the idiotic statement and would have if he wasn't so angry about it. How could people be that stupid? Blown up with such amazing force that he was reduced to vapour, except for a single finger which was for some reason completely unaffected, hence allowing for an easy identification. And these seasoned, well trained investigators had looked at all that and thought, "yep, that makes perfect sense."

He of course ignored the fact that he'd accepted it as well up until about an hour ago.

Scowling, he flicked his wand to send Pettigrew flying through the air until he landed with a thump and rolled to a stop at Madam Bones feet.

"Doesn't look dead to me."

The assembled aurors let out a collective gasp when they saw him, especially when they noticed the tail of a black tattoo peeking out from beneath a tattered sleeve.

"It was him that betrayed my parents, not Sirius Black. He spent twelve years with dementors for something he didn't do; probably would have helped if you'd bothered to give him a trial."

The aurors broke out into hushed chatter before Madam Bones silenced them with an irritated wave of her hand. Frowning, she cast several spells on the unconscious man before she let herself sigh. There were no glamours, no transfigurations nor any other spells on him beyond binding spells. The man on the ground in front of her was indeed Peter Pettigrew, the tragic victim of Sirius Black's murderous rampage. And yet here he was, twelve years later with the Dark Mark on his arm. This was going to be a political shitshow.

"Shacklebolt, take Pettigrew to a holding cell. Vance, you go with him. Make damn sure no one sees you and that no one finds him before the Wizengamot session on the 26th. I'd need to declare my reasons if I wanted to call an emergency session, which would give any interested parties time to prepare. The rest of you, not a word about this to anyone. You mutter even a syllable about Peter Pettigrew I will make sure you regret it."

"Why keep it a secret?"

Madam Bones had almost forgotten that Susan and her friends were still there until Harry spoke up.

"Harry, you can't understand the why. You don't understand the politics."

"Malfoy wants Black dead, or at the very least back in Azkaban. The politics of that – the Wizengamot and whatever else – don't matter. Malfoy is going to find out about Pettigrew whatever you do; he's a slippery little bastard with more than enough money to bribe every auror, secretary and paper pusher in the Ministry, and he's got Fudge on a leash. He _will _find out. There's no point trying to hide it from him. You'll buy a day, maybe two. Without Pettigrew I imagine he'll be able to spin it as an imposter or even just as a lie, and he'll be able to keep the Kiss on Sight order on Black and then he never gets a trial. He keeps whatever it is that he wants from the Black family. And how can anyone really argue with him when it's the first they're hearing of Pettigrew being alive as well?

"On the other hand, we tell everyone. He can't get rid of Pettigrew because then everyone will look to the man who most benefits from it – him. And he can't spin it either, because we've all seen the traitor. A dozen aurors, the head of the DMLE, her niece, the future Lord of House Longbottom, and the Boy-Who-Lived. Maybe we could even parade him around Hogwarts before you go. Malfoy has a much harder job to spin it then."

Madam Bones furrowed her brows in thought for a few seconds before she nodded slightly. Harry was right; Malfoy would find out regardless. She really did despise that man.

"Very well."

"He's an unregistered animagus – a rat," Harry said. "Make sure you ward his cell accordingly."

"And make sure everyone knows that he has the Dark Mark," Neville piped up.

Pettigrew was dragged away while Madam Bones and Susan had a whispered conversation. It was clear even from the other side of the privacy charm that Susan was telling her about Black, especially given the stern glare Susan was given before Madam Bones switched to glare at him across the lawn. He supposed she was a bit miffed that they'd chased a possible death eater onto the grounds when there were dementors around, but it wasn't like he'd forced them to follow.

When they were led back to the castle by Madam Bones Susan visibly cringed at the look they received from Dumbledore as he stood in the centre of the entrance hall with McGonagall at his side, still in her nightgown. Neville looked defiant, and Harry simply didn't care.

Madam Bones explained that Peter Pettigrew had been captured, to Dumbledore's very clear surprise, and when she had said that Pettigrew was marked the headmaster had paled to such an extent his skin appeared transparent. Guilt for allowing Black to rot in Azkaban, Harry assumed. McGonagall gasped and looked towards Dumbledore in shock.

Once Madam Bones had left with a final hug and significant look at her niece, McGonagall escorted Neville back to Gryffindor tower while Dumbledore led he and Susan into the basement.

"How did you know Peter Pettigrew was here at Hogwarts?"

Harry stayed silent.

"Very well," Dumbledore said eventually, "but did you not consider the danger you put both yourself and your friends in? Not only because of Peter, but also because of the dementors?"

"Peter Pettigrew is a pathetic excuse of a wizard and always has been. As for the dementors, they are not a problem. You can ask Lupin about that when you tell him his best friend has spent the last twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit because he wasn't given a trial. You're the head of the Wizengamot, are you not? Aren't trials your job?"

With that Harry took the last few steps along the corridor, tapped the password to the common room against the barrels and disappeared into the Hufflepuff common room without a word. He'd been able to rationalise – or more accurately ignore – most of his feelings of suspicion against Dumbledore up until now. He didn't trust him, but he'd never believed he was in any way malicious. His guilt, heartbreak, even, had always seemed genuine. But now, there was just too much for him to believe that Dumbledore was anything other than a chessmaster with remarkable skill in acting.

From what he could piece together from the unintentional breadcrumbs that Hagrid and occasionally Lupin would drop his parents had been part of some sort of resistance group during the last war, and if they were in it and Lupin was in it then he would bet anything that Sirius Black was in it too. Dumbledore had said he was friends with his parents so presumably he was part of it as well, maybe even the leader. _Probably _the leader. And yet he hadn't bothered to properly investigate the deaths of two of his friends, which also happened to be the most famous set of murders in the history of the magical world, and had allowed another of his supposed friends to rot in Azkaban without even a trial?

He was sure that Dumbledore had an ulterior motive about him – he had always believed that – but now he had finally discarded the belief that his wellbeing would be an important factor in whatever plans Dumbledore had made. After all, any man who could condemn someone he called a friend to twelve years of hell without making damn sure he belonged there was not one who cared much for others happiness.

Of course, that realisation didn't change much. He had very little interaction with the headmaster, and Dumbledore clearly didn't know about any of his personal studies. If he did then Harry had no doubt he would have been spoken to. He'd just have to keep an eye out a little more, and maybe start learning more about the breaking and analysis of wards rather than just their runic bases. Best check on the ones that Dumbledore had put up around his home.

The next day Susan and Neville acted strange around him. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was exactly, but something was… off. He'd occasionally catch them glancing at each other and having a silent conversation that would immediately end once they realised he was watching, and when he went to the Come and Go room they didn't question him on where he was going as they usually would. Instead, they shared a significant look and then continued with whatever they were doing.

It all came to a head the day after on the train back for Christmas. Being in an otherwise empty compartment together made the sudden change all the more obvious. Everything felt stilted. Fractured.

"What's up with you two?" he finally asked.

They shared yet another look, and Harry fought the urge to growl at them.

"Is this about Pettigrew?"

"That," Susan said slowly, "and afterwards. The spell you used would have ripped Dawlish to pieces if it connected – muscles off of bone, tendons and ligaments off of muscles. Why did you use it? Why do you even know a spell like that? Is that what you've been learning when you disappear? Dark Magic?"

Harry scoffed. There was no such thing as Dark Magic. There was magic and there was what you used it for, and he was using it to defend himself. He could just as easily _wingardium leviosa _someone head first into a ceiling or cast _augamenti _down someone's throat until they drowned as he could use the entrail expelling curse or the blood-boiling curse.

"I'm sorry, do you expect me to go into a fight with Voldemort armed entirely with stunners and disarming charms? You think that will cut it when he throws killing curses around like a toddler throws food? As for why I used it, I thought I was under attack. That's what Hannah said she thought she saw, and even though I think divination is bullshit she'd been right up until then. Why would I not use it?"

It was clear that they didn't like that answer. The first part they seemed to understand, vaguely at least. Their morals didn't like it, but behind their protests they could understand the necessity of having the tools to kill, especially given his position. From their grimaces, though, Harry wasn't sure either of them would be capable of using them if the need arose. The final sentence, however, they frowned fiercely at.

"You could have used something else first."

"Best to end any fight as quick as you can, and you don't do that by using nice spells. I'd rather someone else die than I do simply because I decided to hold myself back."

If anything, their frowns deepened.

"And Pettigrew? You cursed him when he was unconscious."

"So that there was no chance he could escape. If he woke up he could have just transformed into his animagus form and ran off."

"He was under a body bind as well!" Neville protested.

"Which could have failed. Hell, transforming could break the spell for all I know. The knees are far too delicate to fix quickly and by anyone other than a trained mediwizard or mediwitch. And even if he had enough time, skill, and a wand with which to heal himself he would have been in far too much pain to go far."

"And you wanted to cause him pain," Susan said.

"Yes," Harry hissed, his eyes set, "he got my parents killed. Are you saying that if I put Antonin Dolohov in front of you right now, you wouldn't want to hurt him? And Neville, if you were face to face with Crouch and the Lestranges, you wouldn't want to hurt them? Kill them, even?"

Neville looked… well, Harry wasn't entirely sure what Neville looked like. His face was hard, as if chiselled from stone, and twisted in a strange expression somewhere between a growl and a grimace. Susan on the other hand was shaking her head adamantly while looking stubbornly downwards.

"No, I would stun him and make sure he's punished properly."

Harry thought that her voice was a little too firm, but he chose not to comment on it. Susan put far too much faith in the system even despite the fact that she knew exactly how corrupt the system was. The fact that her aunt was one of the cogs seemed to make her think that the rest of the machine was made from the same material her aunt was, when in actuality Madam Bones seemed to be a single gleaming component surrounded by rust.

The rest of the journey to Kings Cross passed quietly. Neville seemed a bit distracted, and Susan was reading her arithmancy textbook with a single-minded focus that he'd never seen from her before. The train eventually slowed to a stop and they promised to write just like they did every holiday, and then they quietly filed off of the train.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Four days later, Harry had finally basked in the feeling of being home again enough to drag himself away to Diagon Alley for a few hours to see the goblins. He had managed to persuade Dudley and their friends to cover for him under the false impression that he was going to see a girl. It wasn't a lie, per se; he was sure at least one of the goblins must be female.

With a final glance around he apparated to a dingy little alley a block away from the Leaky Cauldron with a thunderous crack, and then spent the next few moments drawing in huge lungfuls of air. This was by far the furthest he'd apparated, and even though he no longer felt nauseous when he did it the sensation of being squeezed through a hosepipe still wasn't pleasant. He was still quite unused to the suddenness of it all as well, and it took him a few seconds to take stock of where he was. One second he was hiding behind some bushes in the park and the next he was in London. It was very jarring.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and quickly left the alley. Walking into the Leaky Cauldron felt like being shoved into a wall of heat when compared to the freezing temperatures outside, and Harry kept his head down as he entered. Christmas wasn't for another few days but there were clearly more than a few who had become wrapped up in holiday cheer early as they drank and sang and danced, and it took considerable manoeuvring to not be either squished or dragged into song as he crossed the pub and tapped the required pattern against the brinks to gain access to the alley.

It too was bustling with people as they hurried from shop to shop in a desperate attempt to get a few last minute Christmas presents. Harry had ordered his by owl weeks ago and so was happy to slip through the crowds instead of getting dragged into one of the near overflowing shops.

The guards of Gringotts watched the crowd suspiciously as he passed through the great golden doors and entered the bank itself. It was mercifully silent even despite the various queues of people at each teller; the Goblins had a way for forcing silence that would make even Snape jealous.

Harry ignored the lines of waiting people and instead approached the goblin at a small desk at the very head of the chamber.

"I'd like to see the manager for the Potter family, please."

The goblin spent several seconds scrutinising him before it hopped from its chair with a sneer and led him through a maze of rough stone passages. They finally came to a stop in front of a door with a golden nameplate stuck proudly in the centre. _Gornuk._

Harry swallowed nervously before he pushed the door open. This was the first time he would actually get to meet the manager of the Potter accounts. The goblin who had briefly explained his assets to him before he started Hogwarts wasn't actually in charge of his accounts because, at the time, his vaults had been dormant. The head of the family was dead, and the heir was eleven years old and muggle raised with absolutely no idea how the wizarding world functioned – there was no one to give commands or approve investments, and so there had been no need for a manager.

Gornuk looked no different to any of the goblins who manned the teller counters as he sat behind a small but beautifully carved desk. The walls and floor were the same rough stone of the corridor, and with the exception of a few cabinets in the far corner and a couple of plain wooden chairs the room was entirely bare. Harry quickly sat down in one of them as Gornuk watched him, his fingers tapping lightly against the desk.

"You are here about the newly refurbished house in Wales?" Gornuk finally asked.

Harry nodded as confidently as he could. "And to give you permission to invest my gold as you see fit as long as it profits me. Nothing too risky, but I figure that you will have a far better idea of what to invest in than I will. I may be fairly wealthy but that's no reason not to try and grow my vaults a little. You can of course take a small percentage of any profits."

Gornuk seemed surprised before he masked it and peered over the desk intently.

"Ten percent."

Harry almost laughed. "One."

"Five percent."

"Two and a half."

Gornuk grinned nastily at him, his sharp teeth bared in what goblins probably called happiness. Harry wondered whether the goblin had just played him.

"Very well."

A second later Gornuk reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, plain looking stone cube.

"This is your portkey," he said as he slid the cube across the desk. "Its use will automatically make you master of the wards, so I suggest you take it alone if you were not already planning on doing so. There will be a booklet explaining the wards we have erected and how to control them in the study. Is that all?"

"I'd like to visit my family vault if possible."

"The goblin that is waiting to escort you back to the main hall will take you down. Good day."

With that Gornuk returned his attention to the folders that were piled neatly on his desk. Harry took the dismissal for what it was and left with a polite nod that the goblin didn't even seem to notice.

As promised, the goblin in the corridor led him straight to the carts and a few minutes later Harry was stood in front of the towering door of his family vault. He spent the next few hours scouring the bookcases, and eventually found the books he was looking for.

Ever since Madam Bones had mentioned the Fidelius Charm he'd tried to find out exactly how it worked. He had scoured the Come and Go room and the Restricted Section, asked Lupin and Sirius and Flitwick, even Dumbledore, but he'd learned nothing. The mechanism of hiding something so completely was fascinating and endlessly useful, but more than that he wanted to know why there had been no other protections around his parent's home beyond that single charm. Why had there been no wards? Why had the walls and windows and doors not all been charmed to be unbreakable? Why had there been no traps or safeguards just in case? The only wards that had been found that night were Voldemort's anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards to prevent his parents from fleeing. Even if Voldemort had simply broken the wards on his way in the investigators would have found remnants.

And further, why was its use not common practice? Not on things like shops and public buildings, obviously, but most magical homes with a half decent ward scheme had an access list. The Fidelius Charm would work exactly the same and make break-in impossible unless their secret keeper sold them out, but even then any intruders would have to get through the same wards they would have had to anyway. The Fidelius would just be the main protection.

And why hadn't one of his parents been the secret keeper? Surely that would have obviously been the best solution. Why make someone outside the charm the secret keeper when the secret could then be forced out of them?

Harry carried the ancient tomes to a table and started carefully flicking through the pages, trying to find an answer to those questions. The books were filled with other obscure spells, some with long and well explained histories and some with little more than an incantation and a description of the effects, but Harry skipped past them until he finally found the pages about the Fidelius Charm.

It took him a little while to decipher the outdated language and even then he had to ignore large parts of it because he just didn't understand what it was saying, but eventually he thought he'd figured out what the author had tried to say. The Fidelius Charm was, as the name suggested, a charm, but Harry had never realised what an important distinction that was. It was not meant to be used over large areas; it had been designed as a way to hide single rooms at most, more likely drawers where sensitive information or valuable objects were kept. Using it to hide an entire house must have stretched the charm to its absolute limit. He wondered how small his parents' home actually was, or more accurately had been. It must have been tiny for the Fidelius to even cover all of it.

His arithmancy knowledge was far from being enough to understand exactly what the pages were saying without spending weeks studying them, but he understood enough to know that stretching the charm to such an extent would have made it indescribably delicate. Any significant magic would have torn it to shreds. That didn't matter as far as Voldemort was concerned because he couldn't find it in the first place, but it did limit those inside the charm. He supposed that was why there had been no other protections; his parents had decided that the Fidelius Charm was more likely to keep them safe than as many wards and charms as they could possibly cast. Harry wondered if they would have survived if they'd decided otherwise.

All the ideas that had been floating around his head since Professor Babbling had assigned him his project were swiftly discarded. He wouldn't make a runic catalyst as he'd planned to try, nor would he create a new ritual or ward or enchantment. He would turn the Fidelius Charm into a ward so that it could be cast over any area, and so that magic could still be used freely around it. He'd turn it into the spell that would have saved his parents instead of doomed them.

He absently wondered whether he'd be able to persuade them to give him an Arithmancy mastery as well; this project was going to require a great deal of calculation. Given how the secret was hidden he supposed he'd need to delve into soul magic too, and once he had carefully lowered the books into his magically expanded pockets he strode off back into the shelves.

The goblin glared hatefully at him as he left with all the books the Potter family had on the magic of the soul, and by the time he clambered out of the cart he was quite sure he had outstayed his welcome. As soon as he cleared the Gringotts wards he activated his portkey, and after he pushed himself up from the frozen dirt on which he had fallen he looked up at his new house.

It wasn't anything fancy. In fact, it reminded him more of the muggle farmhouse he had seen on the house-hunting shows Aunt Petunia liked to watch. It was made entirely from huge bricks of light brown stone that ivy was already climbing up, adding colour as it crawled around the white window frames that seemed to make up the majority of the front of the house. A tall chimney was peeking over the apex of the roof, and the thought of curling up in front of a fire was extremely inviting as the icy wind whistled through his hair.

The inside of the house matched with his impression from the outside, even if it was bigger than it should have been. There were no beautiful oil paintings or shimmering chandeliers, nor any crystal vases or rich fabrics draped from golden curtain rails. The walls were plain brick or painted white, and the floor was a dark, glossy wood in the common areas and a pale stone in the kitchen and bathrooms, all polished to perfection. There were five bedrooms, each of them more or less the same – a huge king size bed, writing desk, small sitting area, walk-in closet, and enormous en-suite bathroom. They were all currently furnished entirely in cream, but Harry didn't think it would be too difficult to change that if he wanted to.

The study was a far cry from a Head of House's office in any other pureblood family with the same amount of wealth as the Potters, but the Potters were not a Wizengamot family. There was no need for an imposing, richly furnished office in which to intimidate political enemies or impress political allies. Instead, the study was warm and inviting, with a large stone fireplace at one end and a wide desk at the other on which sat a thick white booklet. Unlike the rest of the house, the walls of the study were painted a dark blue and were covered in muggle paintings of watermills and meandering rivers, and behind the desk was an ornate cabinet filled with crystal tumblers and several bottles of firewhiskey. Harry eyed the cabinet with trepidation; his and Dudley's previous forays into the pleasures of alcohol hadn't gone particularly well. Aunt Petunia had been furious when she found them giggling incoherently the previous summer. She really should have locked the alcohol cupboard. Frankly, he still couldn't believe that people drank it willingly.

Harry felt rather important as he sat down behind the desk and leaned back in the incredibly comfortable chair. He could only imagine the disgusted look on Lucius Malfoy's face if he saw it, or any other area of the house for that matter. It only made Harry like it even more.

He picked up the booklet from the desk and spent a few minutes leafing through it, his smile growing with each word. He didn't know hardly anything about wards – yet – but the goblins had put it in words simple enough for anyone to understand, and they seemed to have outdone themselves. At the very front was instructions on how to add people to the wards and how to initiate the lockdown procedure that would make it near impossible for even the best cursebreakers in the world to get in without spending days trying. Harry had a feeling that might one day come in useful.

The rest of the booklet was made up of a list of every ward that had been cast, a description of the effects of each, which ward stones they were tied to and how, how to turn off specific wards if needed, their place in the overall ward scheme. There were dozens of different wards, some of which he had heard of but most of which he hadn't. He'd have to research them when he got the chance, but only after he'd analysed the wards that Dumbledore had cast around his aunt's home. He was still trying to make sense of the results of the ward analysis charms he'd cast the day before.

With a final glance around the room he put the booklet back on the desk and left the study. A little further down the hall was a library so large that it defied belief even with magic. The windows at the far end were barely more than dots as he stared at the countless rows of bare shelves, and he was already planning on moving all the books in his vault into it. He could hardly wait to have full access to his family's knowledge without having to go all the way to Gringotts, and he was sure that the library would one day be one of his favourite rooms.

It would not be his favourite though, that he knew from the very moment he reached the basement and stepped foot inside the duelling room. It was a huge room that seemed to have been chiselled directly from stone, easily as large as an entire floor and covered in wards and charms to prevent damage from errant spells. There were a dozen duelling dummies stood up against one wall just like in the Come and Go room, and against another were targets of varying size that dove and jerked through the air at random.

Unlike the dummies in the Come and Go room these didn't duel at whatever difficulty he thought of and instead had twenty different levels of difficulty to choose from. It took him a little while to find the right level, but after that he spent a few hours swatting away curses and gleefully returning fire with curses of his own. Ever since he met Pettigrew he had felt a near constant itch to cast some of his nastier curses, even if they unfortunately weren't on the snivelling rat. He could only content himself with the fact that he would soon be suffering the same hellish fate he condemned Sirius to. It was poetic justice.

Though from how Sirius had described it, however brief his description had been, the word hellish didn't even come close to adequately describing Azkaban. There had been a letter waiting for him when he got home from Hogwarts, and since then he and Sirius had exchanged a few more. It was a strange, stilted relationship, but Sirius nonetheless was quite clearly desperate to make up for lost time. And, unlike Lupin, he didn't lie even when lying would have been far easier than telling the truth, like when Harry had asked him why he had really come to Hogwarts.

_I could say that it was to protect you, _Sirius had written, _and that it was purely to make sure that Peter didn't hurt you. That did come into my mind of course, but it wasn't why I came. Not really. The thought of that just made me angrier. The truth is I wanted revenge. Peter took everything from me. And I don't mean that to invalidate you or anything even remotely like that – for however much he took from me he took infinitely more from you. But James was my brother._

_I told you that my parents kicked me out. That's not entirely true. What actually happened is one night during the Christmas holidays of my fourth year I got particularly argumentative about something – maybe about muggles, maybe about James, maybe about muggleborns or creature rights or Gryffindor. I don't remember. My mother used the cruciatus on me for a few seconds, just enough for me to know just how much pain she could cause with a wave of her wand and a single word. You need to really want_ _to hurt someone to cast that curse, and that was when I realised that my own mother truly hated me. So I left, and from that day on I stayed with the Potters. Charlus and Dorea were better parents to me than my own had ever been, and James was more my brother than my real brother ever was. And Peter took him from me._

_When I escaped Azkaban I did the exact same thing I did on the night they died. I let my anger and need for revenge overpower my commitment to you. Actually, I'm not sure whether I did it again or if I just never stopped. It was always Peter, even in Azkaban. I could have escaped years ago, I think. It wasn't particularly hard now that I think about it. There was never anything stopping me that wasn't there when I escaped. But I didn't know where Peter was, so what was the point? I didn't think about you near as much as I did Peter, and every time I did it wasn't "I need to escape to make sure he's okay", it was taunting me for not doing what I promised James I would. Like I said, it was always about Peter._

_I'm sorry. I don't really expect you to forgive me for effectively abandoning you and for putting revenge above making sure you grew up happy, even if it worked out okay in the end. I probably wouldn't forgive me and I know that James wouldn't, but he would be even angrier with me than he undoubtedly already is if I lied to you about it._

Strangely, that had made Harry trust him far more than he would have if the letter had simply said that Sirius escaped to make sure he was safe. That was what he wanted to hear and as such he would always distrust it. It wasn't a proper relationship in any shape or form, but in the space of a few letters Sirius had made him trust him more than he trusted Lupin after months. Harry wondered whether the two of them had seen each other yet.

Eventually Harry called a stop to his practising and panted to catch his breath while dummies reformed themselves and lined back up against the wall. He looked down at his bloodied, sweat soaked shirt in distaste and then made his way back through the house towards the bedrooms so he could shower. When he emerged from the shower he had resigned himself to simply casting as many spells as he had to to make it semi wearable until he got home where he could change, only to find his clothes folded neatly on the bed, perfectly clean.

"What the hell?" he murmured as he tried to remember if there was a cleaner that he had somehow forgotten about. "Who did this?"

There was a loud crack, and then Dobby appeared in the door way, still dressed in a ripped pillowcase and hopping from foot to foot excitedly. Well, hopping was probably not the right word. It was more like he was slowly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and even that looked difficult for him. In fact, the elf looked rather ill. His skin had faded to a dull grey, his eyes looked to be slightly clouded and his ears drooped listlessly against his head. He looked to have aged decades since the end of last year.

"I did, Harry Potter sir," Dobby rasped with a tired yet cheerful smile on his face.

"Dobby? What are you doing here?"

"Dobby be's here to help, Harry Potter sir, but if Harry Potter sir wants us to leave Dobby shall," he said, and somehow his ears seemed to droop even more.

"No, no, it's fine," Harry said quickly. He certainly didn't want Dobby bashing his head against the wall again; in his current state he might not survive it. "It's just that you look quite sick, Dobby."

"Oh no, Harry Potter sir, Dobby is well," he said, only to immediately start coughing.

"Dobby…"

The elf stayed silent for long moments, staring down at his bare feet and clutching his arms against his chest.

"Dobby needs magic, Harry Potter sir," the elf admitted quietly.

Harry was frankly baffled by that sentence. He needed magic? He was a house elf! He'd seen him levitating things through the air. He already _had _magic!

"What do you mean, Dobby?"

Dobby looked rather pained at the question, his hunched back hunching even more.

"We house elves don't have our own magic, Harry Potter sir. We rely on the magic of our masters and our homes. We can't survive without it. We work for our masters, and we get magic in return. Dobby has no master."

Guilt washed over him. He wished he'd known that before he tricked Malfoy into freeing him. He could have killed him by trying to help!

"Would you like me to be your master?" Harry asked, despite the fact that he wasn't entirely keen on being someone's master, nor was he entirely sure on what he would do with a house elf.

Dobby's eyes lit up as he nodded enthusiastically, or as enthusiastically as his current condition would allow, and hobbled forwards to grab onto Harry's hand. He pressed it to his forehead and started murmuring in a strange, ancient language. To Harry's ears it sounded like Dobby had practised it so many times he could recite it in his sleep.

When finally Dobby stopped murmuring, Harry felt a sudden pulse run up his arm and into his chest, and then a second later another, louder pulse echo back down. Dobby let go, his eyes brimming with happy tears and a hint of colour already beginning to seep back into his skin.

Harry was amazed by the fact that he seemed almost euphoric to have become a slave once more. The whole relationship between humans and house elves reeked of a curse cast by wizards in ages past, but really there was nothing he could do. It was just yet another reminder that magic was not the pure, beautiful thing he had thought it was when he first learned of its existence.

"Now, Dobby, I'm not entirely sure how you're supposed to treat a house elf, so if I offend you or something let me know." Dobby looked ready to burst into tears and Harry determinedly carried on. "First off, take some time to get better. There's not going to be much for you to do around here anyway, especially once I'm back at Hogwarts so it would probably best if you work with the other Hogwarts elves for now. It would be nice if you help out around my aunt's house as well as long as you're not seen. We'll also have to get you some nicer clothes. Not to free you or anything," he said quickly when Dobby's lip started to tremble, "but if you're wearing that, how does that reflect on me as your master? I'd look as bad as Malfoy."

Dobby looked utterly horrified at the thought of the 'great Harry Potter' ever being considered in the same breath as Lucius Malfoy.

"Right then," Harry said as he looked down at the towel that was still wrapped around his waist, "why don't you go rest then Dobby. That way you can start work sooner."

Dobby nodded furiously and disappeared with a crack, allowing Harry to finally get dressed as he tried to decide whether he should have sent him to Neville or Susan instead. He'd never visited but he knew that both families owned entire estates. There would surely be more for Dobby to do there.

He forced the thought from his head; what was done was done, and he had no doubt that freeing Dobby so that he could go and work for one of his friends would break the elf's heart. It would be unnecessarily cruel; he was sure he could find something for Dobby to do.

He was rather thankful that he was keyed into the wards as he looked out at the rain was pelting the windows before he closed his eyes, concentrated on the dingy little alley down the road from his house and twisted. The stench of rotting rubbish assaulted his nose immediately and Harry quickly left the alley, though he was smiling to himself even despite the burning in his nostrils. Apparition was terribly easy; he had no idea why you had to be seventeen to get a licence.

He was in a rather good mood when he let himself into his house, fully intent on making himself a bagel and watching a DVD. Or at least he was until he noticed his aunt sat on the sofa with uncharacteristic stiffness, even for her. The look she gave him made it quite clear that she was displeased with him, but he was far more concentrated on the woman sat opposite her.

"Madam Bones," he said cautiously, "what brings you here?"

"Why don't you sit down Harry?"

It took considerable effort not to tell her to just spit it out but he nonetheless sat down next to his aunt. Madam Bones stayed silent for a few seconds as she watched him, and the look in her eyes gave Harry a distinctly uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"Peter Pettigrew escaped."

His expression was instantly wiped clean as it and every other sinew of his body seemed to stiffen. Madam Bones frowned as he continued to sit there, completely and utterly motionless. Not even his eyes moved as he stared at a point just over her left shoulder, and he stayed that way for several long seconds, not moving a muscle. In fact, he seemed to do the opposite. The leaves she could see swaying in the wind outside seemed to freeze in place, and his aunt's nervous wringing of her hands seemed suddenly much faster in comparison to his unnerving stillness.

"Escaped?" he asked quietly.

"He was moved from his cell to another one for inspection. Standard procedure to look for contraband that's been smuggled in, runes that they've tried to scratch into the walls and the like. The aurors put him in the wrong cell, one without wards preventing the animagus transformation. When they came back to return him to his cell he was gone."

"And the aurors who let him out?"

"Gone. They both cleared out their Gringotts vaults and disappeared. Untraceable portkeys."

Harry let out a low, hissing breath. Madam Bones would never say that she was scared – he was a thirteen year old boy – but if it were a man twice his age who was radiating the aura he was, that simultaneously burned and froze her skin even despite his flat expression, she had no shame in admitting to herself that she would be.

"And Sirius?" he asked.

"He will still have his trial at the Wizengamot session on the 26th. Despite Fudge managing to keep it out of the papers the news of Pettigrew's capture has spread quickly through the Ministry, so it should go in his favour. I'm going to have to smuggle him in somehow though; Fudge is refusing to remove the Kiss on Sight order."

"Malfoy."

Madam Bones nodded.

"I'm going to be there. I'll smuggle him in under my invisibility cloak and let him reveal himself when the time's right."

Madam Bones nodded again. It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and it was as good a plan as any she had come up with. It would be much easier if he could simply floo into the Wizengamot offices of either her or the Longbottom family, but unfortunately all such floos were heavily monitored.

There was a heavy silence until Madam Bones finally stood up and somewhat uncomfortably smoothed down her black business suit.

"That's all I came to tell you. I'm not sure if you get the Prophet here, but either way I thought it best you not find out from a newspaper."

Harry inclined his head slightly.

"Thank you for coming," Petunia said when it became clear Harry had no intention of speaking.

While his aunt led Madam Bones out, Harry took the opportunity to retreat to his room and cast a few locking charms behind him. He had no doubt that his aunt would want to talk to him about however much Madam Bones had told her about his time at Hogwarts, but he was far from being in the right frame of mind for any kind of discussion. He could feel things coiling in his gut, and he snatched a piece of parchment from his desk and started scribbling a letter to Sirius to tell what was going to happen on the day of the Wizengamot session.

He tied the letter to Charlie's leg and watched him swoop out the window with a chirp, and then he sat heavily onto his bed. He'd let Pettigrew live and now the rat had been set free. There would be no justice, no fair punishment. Peter Pettigrew was now free to disappear into the muggle world or flee the country and live happily ever after, or even crawl back into the service of his master. And all because he'd showed mercy.

He should have killed him. Slowly, painfully, just like the snivelling coward deserved. The only reason he hadn't was because doing so could have condemned an innocent man back to Azkaban. But he still should have killed him. A dead Pettigrew was better than no Pettigrew at all. Mercy was a mistake. A weakness. Mercy may have just doomed Sirius to Azkaban again.

**~Scene Change~**

As he had expected, Aunt Petunia had been none too pleased with him. Harry thanked God that Madam Bones had only spoke about the events of the past term without mentioning anything about his second year. Aunt Petunia had been angry enough as it was as she scolded him for not telling her that there was a man out to kill him, even if that turned out to be false, and she'd only become angrier when he said that he didn't want to worry her when there was nothing she could do about it anyway. Apparently worrying about him was "part of her job description". He could only imagine if she found out that he'd nearly died last year.

Thankfully, she had calmed down by the time dawn broke on Christmas day. They sat in their pyjamas and opened their presents, stuffed themselves with turkey and Christmas pudding while Harry tried his very best to explain complex runes to his aunt. It was clear she didn't understand a word of what he was saying, but she still sat there and listened to him chatter anyway. They pulled crackers and watched the Queen's speech on television, he and Dudley speculating the whole time on how long before she finally kicked the bucket while Aunt Petunia hissed at them to be quiet.

It had been a very nice day, Harry thought to himself as he curled up on the sofa watching yet another movie, which was all that ever seemed to be on the TV at Christmas. He liked all his presents and he liked watching Dudley and Aunt Petunia open the ones he got for them. He liked the food and the happy smiles and the sense of family that Christmas always brought, but there had always been a buzzing in the back of his head that had made even Dudley's gleeful grin of thanks a little dimmer.

Peter Pettigrew was still free.

The next day, Harry woke up early and dressed himself in his best robes, frowning at the way they flapped around his ankles every time he took a step. He didn't like robes and didn't wear them when possible but they were a must for today. The Wizengamot was filled almost entirely with purebloods and he knew that many of them would look down on him if he arrived in slacks and button-up shirt.

Thankfully it was early enough that no one was awake to see him or his strange clothing quickly slip into an alley a little way down the road or to hear the echoing crack as he disappeared. He reappeared in a luckily empty square in front of a decrepit old house, it's black paint peeling and puddles of water shimmering on its front steps as the streetlights flickered. With a final glance for anyone watching he walked up to the door, and as his foot touched the first step he felt wards drip down his skin, cool magic assessing him until, a split second later, the feeling disappeared.

The knocker was a silver snake, and as he rapped it against the door he almost expected it's shining coils to strike out at him. A few seconds later the door swung slowly open, creaking all the while, and Harry peered round the edge. He had been expecting the very definition of opulence even despite the peeling exterior – this was the Black house, after all – but instead the hall the door swung open into was gloomy and filled with cobwebs that glimmered in the light cast from dull silver gas lamps. On one wall was a huge curtain that rustled angrily and by the door was an umbrella stand that looked suspiciously like a troll's leg, and next to it stood a house elf.

It was incredibly old, even older than Dobby had looked a few days before, with grey skin that seemed to drip and melt from hunched bones. It glared up at him with bloodshot eyes, muttering all the while about half-bloods and disgraces to his mistress.

"Harry!" Sirius said as he bounded down the stairs.

A little colour seemed to have returned to his skin even if his eyes retained the same haunted look, and his teeth were no longer yellow and rotten. He was still skinny but no longer to the point that Harry wondered how he was still alive, even if the glossy black robes that hung off him only served to highlight just how skinny he was. Sirius looked about to hug him before he stopped himself at the last second and gripped him tightly on the shoulder.

"Hi Sirius. How was your Christmas?"

Sirius gave a grin that was far too enthusiastic to be real, and now that he was closer Harry could smell firewhiskey on his breath.

"It was great. Much better than the last twelve, let me tell you. Moony came round and even Kreacher's abysmal cooking couldn't ruin it. I reckon he did it on purpose, the little bastard."

The elf – Kreacher, he assumed – looked up at Sirius hatefully.

"Oh, what would my mistress say," he croaked, "if she saw blood traitor master and a half breed in her house? A disgrace to the House of Black. Yes, yes…"

Sirius returned Kreacher's glare in equal measure as the elf hobbled away.

"Ignore him. He would have bred with my mother if he could have," Sirius said with a shudder. "Anyway, how did you like your present?"

Sirius and Lupin had given him a joint present – a handwritten book of all the pranks the Marauders ever pulled. There were even some specially designed prank spells in the later pages. He wasn't much of a prankster so most of the large scale pranks the Marauders pulled weren't of much use to him, but his dad had still written in it. The only downside was that Pettigrew had written in it too; he was strangely angry that Pettigrew's handwriting was neater than his dad's.

"I love it. I couldn't help but notice there were plenty of mentions of Snape," Harry said with a slight smirk as Sirius led him into a sitting room that looked marginally cleaner than the hallway.

"Snivellus gave as good as he got, trust me. I lost count of how many times he tried to curse James. I can't believe the greasy little bastard is a professor."

"Why _did_ Snape hate you all so much? I've seen the looks he gave you in Lupin's memories, especially my dad."

Sirius frowned ever so slightly.

"A few reasons, I think. It all started on the express before we even got to Hogwarts. Me and James were taking Moony and the rat to meet a few kids we'd known as we grew up – pureblood circles are mostly full of dicks, but these ones were pretty tolerable. Snape and Lily were both wandering through the train – they were friends, grew up in the same neighbourhood – and James tried to talk to Lily. This was long before James developed his obsession with her, so there was nothing weird or anything. Standard 'hello, my name is blah blah blah' stuff, but Snape didn't like it at all. Started insulting James, everything from his hair to his family heritage. After that James hated Snape with a passion, and Snape hated him right back."

Harry paid very little attention to anything past finding out that his mother had been friends with the man who seemed to loathe him with every fibre of his being.

"My mum was friends with _him?_"

Sirius laughed at the sheer horror in his voice.

"Yep. It used to drive James mad. They were close friends all the way up to fifth year when Snivellus called her a mudblood, but after that she refused to speak to or even look at him. Lily liked to pretend that he was just acting or that he was just misunderstood, but we all knew he was a junior Death Eater just like Avery and the rest of his merry little band of psychopaths. A muggleborn girl ended up in St Mungo's a few months before that after being poisoned with an absolutely awful potion, and Snape was the only one good enough at potions to brew it. No one could prove it of course, but we knew it was him. Him calling her that didn't really surprise anyone except Lily."

"He's a Death Eater? And Dumbledore hired him to _teach_?"

Sirius nodded. "Dumbledore claimed he'd turned spy for him, but I doubt it."

Harry doubted it too.

"I'll have to keep an eye on him," he murmured under his breath.

"How do you plan on doing that? I know you've got the cloak, but you can't exactly follow the greasy git around at all times."

Harry grinned at him, finally remembering the thing that he had been meaning to ask Sirius about for weeks.

"I'll just use the map."

"The map? _Our_ map? You've got it? How the hell did you get it off Filch?"

Sirius looked gleeful that their prized possession had not been lost, and his grin widened even further when Harry told him how the Weasley twins had got it.

"Moony had said that they reminded him of us," Sirius said as he flicked a fake tear from his eye. "We tried the same thing but Filch is no idiot; he knew it was us. He kept it on him at all times for the rest of our time at Hogwarts, though he clearly never managed to figure out how to use it."

"How does it work? Did you map everything yourself?"

Sirius barked out a laugh.

"Yep, we spent every night for two months wandering through the corridors. We'd alternate it so that it was two of us every night; one to cast the charms and another to be the lookout. As far the more advanced stuff – you know, the footsteps and names and stuff – you'll have to ask Moony. Going by how secretive he was about it I reckon it involved some spells that would be frowned upon."

Harry sincerely doubted he would be asking Lupin about anything, even if a part of him desperately wanted to know how he'd done it. Blood magic? Soul? Magical signatures? Shoe size?

"Anyway," Sirius said as he glanced towards the silver clock on the wall, "we best be off soon if we want to get in before the crowds get there. That would make being under the cloak a little harder I'd say. You have the portkey?"

Harry nodded as he pulled a simple metal rod from his pocket.

"Best get going then," Sirius said, suddenly looking incredibly nervous as he adjusted the collar of his robes.

Harry pulled the invisibility cloak from his pocket and threw it to him, and Sirius spent a few seconds staring down at it before he threw it over his head and grabbed the back of Harry's robes.

"Activate."

Harry was extremely thankful that he managed to keep on his feet this time given that falling would likely have pulled Sirius over too. The room they had appeared in was made entirely out of polished black stone with a few fireplaces further down, and next to the door was a small desk behind which sat a bored looking wizard.

"Please vacate quickly before the next arrival," the wizard droned without even looking up from his newspaper.

Sirius let go of his robes as they walked out and into a long corridor that was slowly starting to fill with people. Several of them stared at Harry as they passed, but he ignored them with the ease of constant practise as he walked towards the golden elevators. It was lucky that Madam Bones had managed to justify giving him a portkey that carried into the Ministry proper instead of the usual portkey area – he was sure somewhere as important as the Ministry would have a way of detecting people trying to enter under invisibility cloaks.

Madam Bones had told him that the Wizengamot chambers were on level 10, but that while the sitting members would take the elevator to level 9 and then go down a flight of stairs, as he would be in the visitors section he would have to enter through the DMLE on level 2. She had assured him that no one would detect the invisibility cloak, but it was still the part of the plan that Harry was least comfortable with.

Luckily, they passed through into the mostly empty stands without trouble. The session wasn't set to begin for another half an hour so only the most enthusiastic of political reporters had arrived yet, but even then Harry doubted many more would turn up. Neville had complained about his grandmother dragging him along so much that Harry knew that Wizengamot sessions were normally dreadfully tiresome. This one wouldn't be, of course, but no one else knew that.

Harry sat down a few rows back from the front with only a seemingly empty chair separating him from the wooden steps and discreetly cast a charm to dissuade anyone from sitting in it. The wait for the session to actually start was torturous; he was tense and it was difficult to keep himself from showing it, and despite his best efforts to distract himself by looking around the room his knee was beginning to bounce in agitation.

The Wizengamot chambers were circular with walls of shining black stone ringed by polished oak stands, and at the very centre was a dark wooden chair with chains wrapped around its arms. There was a box across from the visitors section for the family members of the Wizengamot members in which he could see Susan and Neville sat whispering in low tones. They didn't look surprised to see him, and when Susan cocked her head at him Harry nodded to the empty seat next to him.

The very bottom tier of benches was for the Ministry department heads, each labelled with a silver plaque. Harry could see seats for the heads of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Department of Magical Transportation, the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, the Department of Magical Creatures, and the Department of Magical Education before the writing became too small to read. By the looks of it there was one for every department at the very least, and God only knew how many pointless departments a bureaucracy like the Ministry had. Above that were seats for the Minister, the Chief Warlock, and the scribe. Each of the department heads had one vote, the Minister two, and the Chief Warlock none as the position was supposed to be an impartial one.

Harry thought it all fair enough up to that point, but above that was a different story altogether. In fact, he thought it practically medieval. Above the Minister sat the Noble houses – families that had once done something honourable for the wider magical community and been rewarded for it. Once awarded the seat could not be taken away except by unanimous decision of the entire Wizengamot, even if they had been given the seat centuries ago and the family had been awful ever since. Above that was the Ancient houses, whose only virtue was being able to trace their magical lineage back a certain number of generations, and the final tier was for the Ancient and Noble houses, who had the good luck to be both. Noble houses had two votes, Ancient houses three, and Ancient and Noble houses had five votes. _Five!_ The opinion of a fool was not worth five times that of someone with enough intelligence to be given a department head position simply because their family happened to be old and one of their ancestors happened to have done something impressive.

What rankled was that they claimed that it was a fair setup. When muggleborns, half-bloods and purebloods alike had tried to change the system, they had been told that it all balanced out. The nobles were far outnumbered by the department heads, so really the votes would always follow what the common folk wanted. That was true, technically, but who chose who would be promoted into a position that was attached to a Wizengamot seat? And more than that, how hard would it really be for a wealthy wizard from an old family to effectively buy that seat? It was an unfortunate fact in all governments that money talks far louder than words or morals ever could. The protests of the common population were nothing more than whispers to the men who sat atop towers of gold and silver.

Eventually the Wizengamot members were lead in with Dumbledore and Minister Fudge leading the procession, each of them dressed in plum robes with a stylised W embroidered in gold over the breast. They silently took their seats, and Harry shared a small nod with Madam Bones. Surprise flickered over Dumbledore's face when he noticed him.

"I do hereby call this meeting of the Wizengamot to order," Dumbledore's voice echoed around the chamber. "As always, any urgent business shall be addressed first."

A murmur ran around the room when Madam Bones stood up, but none looked particularly surprised.

"As many of you will have heard," she started, "Peter Pettigrew was recently captured at Hogwarts. His arm held the Dark Mark, and under preliminary questioning it was found that he has spent the years since his disappearance hiding in his animagus form in a wizarding household. He confessed to framing Sirius Black for the betrayal of the Potter family and the murder of twelve muggles on November 3rd 1981."

"And where is he now?" a pale, skinny man asked smoothly. "I'm sure the members of this body would like to hear these confessions from the man's own lips."

"He escaped three days ago."

There was another murmur, this one much louder than the first. Harry could hear doubts creeping in around him. Mutters of whether Pettigrew had even been captured at all, or whether it was simply some sort of conspiracy to clear Sirius Black of his crimes.

Harry felt like screaming. Clearly he had overestimated the intelligence of the average witch or wizard. He had assumed that as soon as Pettigrew disappeared under shady circumstances that everyone would look to the man who most profited from his disappearance – Malfoy. But they hadn't, and instead were acting as if Pettigrew had never been caught at all simply because they hadn't seen his picture in the newspaper.

Harry was sure he saw a smirk ghost across Malfoy's face before it faded into barely-concealed smugness. He wasn't even bothering to hide his satisfaction, so sure in his immunity and his power. Harry glared at him.

"However," Madam Bones continued, "these events led me to review the case files for one Sirius Orion Black. It was empty but for two arrests – one for public intoxication, another for public nudity-"

Harry could feel Sirius shaking with silent laughter beside him.

"-but there was nothing else. No arrest report for the deaths of Peter Pettigrew or the twelve muggles killed, and no record of a trial ever taking place."

"He didn't need one," a man with a pencil moustache insisted, "we knew he was guilty."

A grey haired man snorted loudly, and appeared completely unsurprised when every pair of eyes turned to look at him.

"Sorry," he said, "but I'm not likely to trust you about issues of guilt when you didn't even realise your own son was a Death Eater."

Crouch looked murderous, and he only became angrier when several people voiced their agreement.

"I would like to move to revoke the Kiss on Sight order on Sirius Black so that he may be given a trial upon capture," Madam Bones said.

There was an outburst of challenges led by Malfoy and Fudge, and for several minutes the chamber descended into arguments that were more befitting a playground than parliament. Even Dumbledore didn't seem to be able to get them under control. Harry sighed. It seemed he would have to make a spectacle of himself after all. He looked towards Dumbledore who was desperately trying to restore order until he finally looked in his direction, and Harry tapped himself on the chest with a somewhat resigned look. Dumbledore nodded before he withdrew his wand and fired off a deafening boom, causing the heads of the arguing Wizengamot members to whip around to look at him while he smiled benignly out at them.

"I feel that Mr Potter ought to be given a chance to speak. It is, after all, him that was most affected by Sirius Black's alleged crimes."

There were again challenges from Malfoy and his followers, arguing about what was proper protocol or other such nonsense, but they were drowned out by agreements from the majority of the body. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, after all. Such a figure surely deserved a say. It was the first time Harry had ever been anything even approaching thankful for that title.

Harry swallowed before he spoke, trying to remember the words he had spent several hours planning just in case. He could see Susan and Neville giving him encouraging smiles from their seats opposite him. He was used to having people stare at him, but not when they were expecting him to say something profound or intelligent as well.

"I was the one who found Pettigrew. He betrayed my parents. I know exactly what he did and how he did it, but as you've already heard what matters about that I won't repeat it. So let's concentrate on Sirius Black. An innocent man thrown in Azkaban for twelve years without a trial to suffer through hell on earth. And it happened to _Sirius Black, _the heir of arguably the most powerful family in Wizarding Britain. If they can do that to him, then they can certainly do it to you. And if you allow this precedent to be set, they have no reason not to do so."

Murmurs and mutters washed across the stands as he sat back down, wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers while his heart hammered in his chest. An invisible hand patted him on the knee. Some were looking at him appraisingly, Dumbledore and Madam Bones included, and when the motion was finally voted on many of those that argued against it just minutes before voted in support. Behind his still erratic breathing, Harry was inordinately pleased by the way that Malfoy was glaring at him.

"The motion has passed," Dumbledore said, looking rather pleased, "the Kiss on Sight order for Sirius Orion Black is hereby revoked. He is to be captured alive and to be given a fair trial. Now, if there is nothing else…"

"Actually," a disembodied voice said from beside him, and Harry fought the urge to groan, "I think we should just get it out of the way now."

And with that, Sirius threw the invisibility cloak off and skipped down the steps to furious uproar. Madam Bones' eye seemed to twitch. Harry could understand how she felt; he knew about Sirius's drama queen tendencies from Lupin's memories but he had hoped he would manage to control them today, or at the very least that his nerves would dull them. He had been hoping that Sirius would be – for lack of a better word – serious. Unfortunately not.

"Now now," Fudge blustered, "we ought to delay. Such an important trial requires preparations. The press will want to be here!"

"Oh do shut up Cornelius," a wrinkled old woman scowled.

Fudge seemed to forget that he was Minister under her glare and sat back down in his chair like a scolded schoolboy.

"The Minister does have a point," Malfoy said with a sickly smile on his face. "Such a trial would require extra security at least. We certainly wouldn't want anything untoward to happen."

"And I suppose it's just an added bonus that it would give you enough time to _persuade _people that it would be in their best interest to convict me so you can keep my seat?" Sirius asked, ignoring the wands that all the aurors present were now pointing at him.

"It's not your seat; you were disowned. The seat falls to the nearest male relative, my son Draco, and I am perfectly within my rights to act as his regent until he comes of age."

Sirius grinned up at him.

"Really? I was disowned? Thank you for telling me, Lucius. I suppose you must know something Gringotts doesn't."

The entire Wizengamot sucked in a collective breath. The entire international wizarding community had been working under the assumption that Draco Malfoy would be the head of the Black family, a 'fact' that Lucius Malfoy had been spreading for years. Lucius Malfoy losing the Black seat was huge, and him losing access to every business, associate and alliance the Black family held was even bigger. Everyone knew that issues of inheritance were decided by Gringotts, but was Sirius bluffing?

Malfoy was pale in a mixture of fear and rage, but another boom echoed from Dumbledore's wand before any more words could be said.

"Enough," Dumbledore said, looking for all the world as if he was simply discipling a few unruly students. "It has been agreed that Sirius Black is to be given a trial. I see no reason to delay, unless the DMLE would like time to gather additional evidence?"

Madam Bones shook her head.

"Then we shall proceed. Auror Shacklebolt, Auror Dawlish, please escort Mr Black to the defendants chair."

Grinning, Sirius held both his wrists out as they approached. Harry recognised one of them as the auror who had tried to curse him when he crawled out of the Whomping Willow; Dawlish, according to his name badge. He continued to throw wary glances at him over his shoulder even after they had slapped large metal cuffs onto Sirius's wrists and quickly led him through the stands towards a small door at the far side of the visitors gallery. All the while Harry could hear Sirius whistling cheerfully, and he didn't stop whistling until he came to the chair at the centre of the room.

"Just a moment gentlemen. I don't suppose one of you would be willing to roll up my sleeves?"

Dawlish looked ready to start casting detection charms in case it was some sort of trap, but Shacklebolt simply flicked his wand to send Sirius's sleeves crawling up his unmarked arms.

"He must have hidden it!" shouted a man who reminded Harry of an older, uglier version of Vincent Crabbe.

Harry groaned.

"If the Dark Mark could be hidden," Sirius said slowly, as if he were talking to a particularly stupid child, "don't you think everyone would have done it? It would have saved some of those in this chamber a great deal of gold."

He smiled cheerfully at Malfoy while he spoke, a fact which only seemed to infuriate the man further. The older Crabbe seemed to shrink at the glares he received, and even then he was twice the size of the average man.

"How will we know that he's telling the truth?" an elderly witch asked as Sirius sat down in the chair and chains immediately coiled around his arms. "He might be able to resist veritaserum."

"After such prolonged exposure to dementors it is massively unlikely for him to have that ability, Lady Ogden," Dumbledore said, "but if necessary I believe it would be agreeable for an impartial Legilimens to determine the accuracy of his statements?"

The witch nodded, and a few minutes later a man in a hooded black robe entered the chamber. An Unspeakable? Harry half hoped he stuck around so that he could ask about the Department of Mysteries. God only knew what sort of experiments they did down there. The man stood in front of Sirius with his hands clasped behind his back, and even Sirius's cheerfulness seemed to deflate in the face of the man's shadowed stare.

A blank, glossy expression spread over Sirius's face when Shacklebolt placed three drops of veritaserum on his tongue, and after he was sure that the potion had taken full effect he nodded at Madam Bones.

"What is your full name?"

"Sirius Orion Black," Sirius replied in a monotone.

"When were you born?"

"November 3rd 1959."

"Were you ever in the service of the wizard known as Lord Voldemort in any capacity?"

"No."

"Did you ever consider it?"

"No."

"Who was the Potter family's secret keeper?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Who was responsible for the deaths of twelve muggles on November 3rd 1981?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

Madam Bones turned to look at the Unspeakable.

"Was he telling the truth?"

"Yes," the man said in much the same monotone that Sirius had been speaking in, and with that he strode out of the room.

That was not the end of things, of course. Some still insisted that he was lying, though that seemed to be limited to a few dim-witted individuals that bore resemblances to several students Harry vaguely remembered from school, most of which sucked up to Malfoy. Harry wondered whether they would continue to do so after this. There was testimony from several aurors as well, including from Madam Bones herself, but everyone knew that it was simply a formality. Dotting the i's and crossing the t's.

When the innocent verdict was finally delivered the applause was muted and echoed pathetically around the room. Having a Black in the world after he had just spent over a decade in Azkaban was a worry for even the most liberal of the Wizengamot members, and the more conservative members were far more focussed on the fact that their de-facto leader may have just lost a huge chunk of his power. Unsurprisingly, Sirius didn't seem to care as he skipped back up the steps.

"Come on Harry," he said, grinning from ear to ear, "lets get out of here. Dreadfully boring these things, trust me."

Harry nodded quickly and followed Sirius up the steps towards the exit. He had no desire to hear about cauldron thickness or flying carpet regulations or any of the other horror stories Neville and Susan had moaned about.

Sirius paused on the last step.

"Oh and Malfoy," he said, "if I hear about you contacting any associate, alliance, business, or goddamned house elf that is any way connected to the House of Black then we will be having words."

The smile on his face reminded Harry of that night in the shrieking shack. It was all teeth, with hints of madness bleeding from the corners. Malfoy nodded stiffly, and with that Sirius's smile became cheerful again before he turned and continued on his way.

Harry shrugged towards the family box before he followed after Sirius as he waited impatiently a few steps through the door. Sirius seemed completely unbothered by the aurors as they wandered through the DMLE offices, not even when they raised shaky wands before Aurors Shacklebolt and Dawlish managed to tell them that he'd just been exonerated. Dawlish was glaring at him the whole time, but Shacklebolt didn't look at all surprised. Apparently he had been a Gryffindor the year above Sirius and so was well aware of Sirius Black's troublemaking tendencies.

Sirius chatted away about just about anything that entered his mind as they walked. That Malfoy having control of the Black seat was unlawful because Draco had never been officially named the heir thanks to a loophole the goblins had found and used simply because they thought Malfoy was pompous. If he had acted a little more nicely Sirius was sure they would have let Draco be named the heir. It certainly wasn't because they liked him, he said, and then he started talking about a visit to Gringotts with his father where he had accidentally insulted the goblins. That led him onto ranting about his parents and their demented house elf, telling stories of his mother's dinner parties and how he'd done his best to ruin them.

Harry thought it strange that he could be so carefree after spending twelve years in Azkaban. He wondered if this cheerful attitude was an act, or maybe a coping mechanism or a way to pretend he had never been thrown in there in the first place. Or maybe it was just giddy relief. He couldn't work it out, but he certainly wasn't going to ask.

Then Sirius started asking about his aunt and about Dudley, about his muggle friends and what muggle school was like. It was clear that he wanted to meet Aunt Petunia now that he was a free man, although when Harry actually asked if that was what he wanted he denied it.

"Of course not Harry. You've only known me a little over two weeks. It's much too soon for me to go barging into your life."

It was a lie and a bad one, so Harry decided to just get it out of the way now. Aunt Petunia had expressed interest in meeting Sirius as well, even if it was for no other reason than to determine his suitability to be anywhere near her nephew, and he knew that neither would be particularly happy if they had to wait until summer. His aunt would worry that Sirius Black was somehow corrupting him, and Sirius would likely feel like he was being kept separate. Like he didn't trust him or something. And he did trust him, even if he didn't quite understand why he did so quickly.

Sirius practically bounded through the floo when Harry said they could go and see his aunt, and as soon as Harry stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron's floo Sirius led him out into the muggle street. He had transfigured his robes into jeans, a tee-shirt and a jacket while he waited for Harry to tumble from the floo, even if they looked a little silkier than they should. Sirius was grumbling about poorly suited wands as they picked their way down the street to somewhere quieter where Sirius said he would summon something called the Knight Bus. Harry had no idea what that was but kept quiet, figuring that Sirius assumed that was how he had got to Grimmauld Place that morning. He wasn't quite ready to admit that he had been illegally apparating, especially given that he had ignored the warnings about always learning where there is someone close by to reattach splinched limbs. He doubted Sirius would be pleased, and Aunt Petunia would be even less so if she found out.

The Knight Bus was a horrible, evil, utterly awful contraption, and when it finally lurched to a stop outside his aunt's house Harry didn't think he'd ever be so glad to step off of something even if he stood on a landmine. Sirius at least tried to look sympathetic, even if the expression was ruined by the chuckles that escaped him.

Harry led Sirius up the path towards the front door, but they didn't even reach it before it flew open.

"Hello Harry," Aunt Petunia said, her arms crossed as she stood in the doorway, "Dudley is up in his room. He wanted to show you something – something about his new computer game I believe. Why don't you go and see what he wants while Mr Black and I have tea in the kitchen?"

Sirius looked like a deer in headlights, and Harry almost laughed as he continued up the path.

"He did get found innocent by the way," Harry whispered as he slipped past her, "so your worries about him are unfounded."

"_That _is yet to be seen."

Sirius gulped. The look she was levelling him with was just like the ones his mother had given him before he started Hogwarts when he damaged something or otherwise caused trouble. He followed her towards the kitchen like a man being led to the gallows, a fact that thoroughly amused Harry as he walked up the stairs towards Dudley's room. Really, Aunt Petunia wasn't _that _scary.

When Harry and Dudley eventually came back downstairs, both were half expecting to see Petunia sat at the table alone having kicked Sirius out long ago, or maybe to see her glaring at him in disapproval, or maybe even to find Sirius in a stew of some sort. Actually, the opposite was true. They seemed to be chatting quite happily, and Petunia was telling Sirius about life in the muggle world when they noticed the two boys in the corridor.

"Hello boys," Aunt Petunia said as she pushed herself from the table, "I assume you're hungry?"

Dudley nodded, unsurprisingly, and Petunia swept about the kitchen throwing eggs and bacon into pans. Sirius gave Harry a strangely sharp look when her back was turned, and Harry wondered what exactly he had done.

Sirius and his aunt talked for another couple of hours, and by the time Sirius left with another vaguely disapproving look Harry was still no closer to figuring out what he'd done. He wasn't overly concerned – Sirius would tell him when he felt like it, and as he was waiting it couldn't be that bad – but he honestly couldn't think of anything he'd done wrong. Unless Aunt Petunia had told him that he'd been doing magic outside of Hogwarts, which was technically illegal even though his wand didn't have the trace. But then he didn't think Sirius one to care about such regulations. In fact, he was willing to bet that Sirius would have done exactly what he had if the roles were reversed.

The next day Sirius arrived on the doorstep and asked Aunt Petunia to let them accompany him to the nearby video-store. Lily Potter had apparently convinced the marauders to floo into muggle London during Hogsmeade weekends to visit the cinema, sparking a love for movies in both him and James. Seeing as he had spent the last twelve years in prison he wanted help picking out the best things to watch.

Aunt Petunia agreed without hesitation. Both Harry and Dudley gave a token protest that they really wouldn't know much about the 15 rated films, and certainly not those that were rated 18. She had given them a knowing look and immediately sent them on their way.

"That explains where half our films went," Dudley muttered as Sirius led them along the road towards the very same alley that Harry used to apparate.

Unfortunately Dudley reacted rather violently to apparition, so much so that Sirius vanished his now vomit covered shoes and conjured a new pair instead of trying to use cleaning charms.

"It's because I'm muggle," Dudley slurred as he wiped his face with a conjured napkin, "that the only reason. You're both fine because you're wizards."

Harry ignored Sirius's suspicious look as they left the alley they had appeared in and wandered into the video-store. Dudley immediately disappeared into the shelves but Harry hung back a second, pretending to look through a shelf filled with musicals.

"Sirius?" Harry asked once he was sure Dudley was out of earshot, "why are you annoyed with me?"

"What are you talking about? I'm not annoyed."

Harry just looked at him.

"Alright, but annoyed is the wrong word," Sirius finally said with a sigh. "Disappointed, disapproving. They're more accurate descriptions."

"But why?" Harry asked, honestly with no idea why Sirius would be disapproving. He hadn't done anything since they found Pettigrew for him to disapprove of. Unless it was something before that? Had Lupin said something?

"Because you lied to your aunt. You told her that nothing happened in your second year, when it was actually the worst so far. Which, I've got to say, given your track record is saying something! Moony told me everything that happened. You nearly _died _on more than one occasion and on one of them you were right on the edge, and yet your aunt doesn't know about it because you lied to her about it."

Harry frowned, mentally damning the name Remus Lupin to the very depths of Hell. Really, why was he spouting off about it to anyone who asked? Who had told him anyway? And why did Sirius decide that he needed to lecture him about it?

"You don't see anything wrong with that?" Sirius asked incredulously after a few seconds.

Harry shrugged. "Telling her wouldn't have benefitted anyone. Are you telling me you never lied to your parents?"

"That's not the same thing at all," Sirius spluttered. "My parents hated me. I _had _to lie to them so that they didn't punish me in some creatively awful way."

"So you did lie to your parents then. You had your reasons to lie just like I have mine. If I'd told her she would have pulled me out of Hogwarts in an instant. That wouldn't have been pretty, and it would have made everything worse regardless of who won the argument. Either way she'd have spent the rest of her life either worrying about me or trying to keep me wrapped up in cotton wool, and we'd have had a huge argument as well."

"She's your aunt, Harry. She loves you. Doesn't she deserve to know that you nearly died?"

"She deserves to not _have_ to know."

Sirius couldn't seem to wrap his head around what he was saying. It wasn't a question of trust or of what was deserved as Sirius seemed to think it was; it was a question of kindness. It was kinder if she didn't know. Harry just hoped it stayed that way. Sirius may not have told her yet, but that didn't necessarily mean that he wouldn't. He didn't think he would, though.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The dementors were still there when Harry, Susan, and Neville stepped off the Hogwarts Express, drifting above the Forbidden Forest and looming by the gates, only now they were here because of Pettigrew instead of Sirius. Harry knew that Pettigrew wouldn't come here. He was a coward; he would flee the country or he would hide. Why would he come back to Hogwarts after spending over two years here, in which time he had done nothing?

He supposed it was just another case of Fudge having to be seen as doing something, especially given the fact that, according to Susan, Fudge was in a bit of hot water as it was. After he and Sirius had left the Wizengamot meeting it had effectively descended into chaos while people threw around blame and accusations until someone from the Goblin liaison office had been sent to confirm Sirius's claim that he was never disowned. He had quickly returned and confirmed that Sirius Black was the Head of the Black family, at which point Fudge and Malfoy had been subject to all sorts of accusations since without an officially recognised heir the Black seat should have been dormant. It certainly shouldn't have been under Malfoy's control simply because he _said_ his son was the heir. Everyone knew that Lucius Malfoy was a personal friend of the Minister, and despite the fact everything was framed as campaign donations everyone knew that Fudge had taken a bribe. They couldn't prove it, of course, but they knew. Unfortunately, barring any sort of behaviour so awfully and obviously corrupt that impeachment was an option, they were stuck with him until the next election.

However, if Fudge was in hot water then Crouch had been thrown into an active volcano. Depriving anyone the right to a fair trial was criminal, never mind doing it to one of the most powerful men in the country. And once they started poking around they found that it wasn't the only time he'd done it either; Sirius was simply the first one to be discovered. Unfortunately, many of the other witches and wizards that he'd thrown into Azkaban for being suspected Death Eaters without due process had died in their cells. Those that had survived hadn't retained their sanity near as well as Sirius had; they were barely alive and would require months of physical therapy and months more mental therapy to even start fixing what Azkaban had broken.

This was one scandal too many for most members of the Wizengamot to stomach. Crouch had been removed from the Ministry in disgrace, and it was only made worse by the fact that he had been the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. The World Cup was far too big and far too public an undertaking to be moved so late, but there had been another secret competition, meeting or summit of some sort that had been set to be held in Britain that now wouldn't be. Neither Susan nor Neville knew what it was, but those in the know had been furious that Britain would be deprived of the 'privilege' of hosting the event.

Thankfully, Neville and Susan seemed to have gotten over what happened with Pettigrew over the holidays. Mostly, anyway. They didn't share grim looks when he disappeared nor question him much on what he was doing. In fact, they seemed to determinedly ignore his comings and goings. Harry was rather thankful for that; having your friends questioning your morality wasn't much fun.

He actually asked Neville about it a few days into the new term. Neville had looked quite uncomfortable at the reminder, but he had then told him that he'd asked his gran how many awful spells his grandfather had known. Cyrus Longbottom had opposed cruel legislation as Lord Longbottom and he had been a member of the ICW forces that had fought against Grindelwald, willing to risk his life to put a stop to a war that hadn't even touched Britain yet. As far as Neville was concerned there were very few wizards that he should look up to more than his grandfather. So, when his Gran had replied that he had known far, far more vicious spells than the average Death Eater did, some of which would make even them retch, he felt like everything he had thought he'd known had been turned on its head.

"You can't fight against a dark wizard if you don't know what spells they're casting," she had told him.

Harry didn't point out that he was learning them so that he could use them if the time came instead of simply for identification, even if he'd already told them as such on the train home for Christmas. Best not to remind them of it if he could help it. They both seemed to harbour some reservations, Susan in particular, but for the most part the business with Pettigrew simply wasn't mentioned.

Despite all that, though, things weren't quite the same. They were still very close, yes, but there was something different, and Harry couldn't quite describe what. They still ate together, played games together, still did their homework together in the library and chatted about whatever caught their fancy. They still liked him, they were still friends, but there was this extra millimetre of distance that would sometimes feel like a chasm for a split second. A new edge that occasionally glinted in their eyes. Their opinion of him had shifted slightly, as would be expected, but instead of shifting with it all three still went on as if nothing had changed.

He honestly wasn't sure if he would have rathered they act different or not.

It was strange that the year seemed to have split straight down the middle, at least as far as he was concerned. Before the holidays everything had been about Sirius Black; catching him, avoiding him, learning spells to fight him, watching the map for him, wondering why he was at Hogwarts or how he had escaped Azkaban. And now, he didn't need to do any of that. All the tension that he hadn't even realised had built up over the previous months had disappeared, and he was now quite happy to sit in the library with his friends and chatter about whatever came to mind while they did their homework, be it the Weasley twin's latest prank or Ravenclaw's crushing defeat to Slytherin in the quidditch cup. Last term he would have been itching to be back in the Come and Go room cursing dummies with scraggly black hair and haunted grey eyes.

He now he spent a good majority of his free time pouring over the books he'd gotten from his vault, but that didn't mean he spent much less time in the Come and Go room than he had before. For the first week or so he did it in the library while Neville and Susan did homework of their own, or at least he tried to. They had a very annoying habit of asking him what he was doing, and it didn't matter that they were genuinely curious when telling them would require explaining several years worth of runes or arithmancy study. He had worked on his project exclusively in the Come and Go room ever since.

The abilities of the room would be especially useful when he managed to convert it into a rune scheme that could be etched into a ward stone. He'd have to experiment with all manner of different materials, different sizes, different spatial arrangements. He'd have to bury the ward stone at different depths and different distances apart, test if the ward had to be split over multiple stones, test it to make sure different wards could be cast in conjunction with it. Arithmancy could only narrow the possibilities down so much before experimentation was required.

That was a long way off though. Years away in all likelihood. He had just started trying to break down the spell's arithmancy, but doing so to such an intricate spell was like trying to dig a hole with a spoon. It was technically possible, but it was also infuriating and would take an extremely long time. And that wasn't even considering trying to understand soul magic of all things. It had a reputation for being one of the most difficult magical arts, as well as one of the darkest. Not something a third year should really be dabbling in, but when had that ever stopped him?

**~Scene Change~**

Harry, Neville and Susan were crowded round a table on one side of the Hufflepuff common room, the bright, airy atmosphere contrasting sharply against the frown on Neville's face as he surveyed his pieces and did his very best to ignore their commands to get on with it. Susan too was leant forward in concentration as she stared down at the board, considering moves and countermoves. Harry, on the other hand, was grinning.

Much of the common room had stopped what they were doing as soon as they'd started setting the chessboard up in favour of watching them, knowing that the three of them playing chess invariably descended into squabbling. There was always one not playing, and that one always took that time to try and distract the other two. Susan would chatter about anything that caught her fancy, offering 'hints' every now and then. Some of what she suggested were actually good ideas, but the rest were terrible and neither Harry nor Neville were any good at deciding which was which. Neville's strategy was to ask about something they were passionate about; he would ask Susan about the auror corps or about defence, and he would ask Harry about his project or any of the things he studied just because he found them interesting.

Harry's strategy was comparatively simple but nonetheless effective. He simply spouted a constant stream of nonsense.

"Alright Neville, what you want to do is move that knight over here."

"Why the hell would I do that when I can move this bishop and take Sue's rook? Are you on my side or hers?"

"I'm not on anyone's side! I'm just trying to be helpful, you know, like friends are supposed to be? Not, for example, betraying each other by convincing my pieces to mutiny!"

Neville smirked without taking his eyes off his pieces.

"You really need to get over that Harry," Susan said. "I was going to beat you anyway."

"How do you know that it wasn't all part of my strategy?"

"Because you don't _have_ a strategy."

"Yes I do, and even if I didn't I'd still be better than Longbottom here."

Neville ignored the thumb that jabbed in his direction while his fingers hovered over the knight Harry had pointed at, but then his hand darted away and grabbed hold of his protesting bishop.

"Congratulations Neville, you've just shat the bed."

"Language," Susan muttered as she moved her own piece, knowing full well she was going to be ignored.

"You know," Harry continued, "for someone who has pulled a magic sword from a hat and is therefore a knight, you sure do hate actually using them."

Again, Neville ignored him as he moved his queen across the board.

"Check," Neville said, smiling smugly at Harry.

Susan frowned as she moved her king out of harms way and ignored Harry's attempts to distract her. He frowned before he turned his attention to the pieces themselves and proceeded to commiserate about 'useless commanders who don't respect suggestions.'

"Checkmate," Susan grinned a few minutes later, having pinned Neville's king between her rook and queen.

"You see, Neville," Harry said as Neville grudgingly handed over the wagered chocolate frogs, "this wouldn't have happened if you'd just moved your knight."

"Piss off Harry. Don't you have a meeting to get to?"

Harry glanced at the clock.

"Fuck."

Again, Susan half-heartedly scolded him for his language as he hurriedly yanked his bag from the floor and he dashed from the room. Best not to keep Professor Babbling waiting longer than he already had.

She was thrilled when he told her what he wanted to do, though she did also stress the importance of having a back-up idea. He wasn't the first to try and make the Fidelius Charm more useable and all those before him had failed, some quite explosively. Still, she answered his questions enthusiastically and told him that he was welcome to drop by her office any time if he had any further questions, provided she wasn't teaching a class and that the hour was decent.

"And you have to promise that you won't do anything potentially dangerous without me supervising," she said sternly.

"I promise."

From the look on her face Professor Babbling knew that he would more than likely do it anyway, just as Harry knew that she knew and had asked him not to so she could at least say she had tried. Runes was just about the most dangerous area a wizard could research that didn't cross into what some would call dark magic – things like blood and soul magic, and he was looking into soul magic as well. He was rather surprised she hadn't warned him about that, but maybe she hadn't thought he would be studying it. If that was the case then maybe that was where all the previous attempts had gone wrong.

His mind buzzed as he made his way back to the common room, trying to work out how the professor's answers to his questions would affect his project going forwards. She had simplified some aspects but others had suddenly become much more complex, and that was without even considering the soul magic involved. He supposed he better dedicate some more time to studying that now – he wasn't sure how much he could progress before he understood how the secret was actually hidden. He sighed at the thought; the soul was just so complicated to understand. Each book had a slightly different definition of what it was.

Neville and Susan were just where he'd left them when he got back to the common room, his thoughts still whirring.

"Harry," Susan said as he waved him over, "you went to muggle school, right? What is that girl doing?"

Harry turned and followed her gaze to a second year girl with a glossy textbook in front of her as she used a biro to scribble notes into a notebook. Several older students were peering over her shoulder and looking at each other in confusion.

"Looks like chemistry," Harry murmured.

"Chemistry?" Neville asked.

"You don't know what chemistry is?" he asked, shocked.

Both Neville and Susan shrugged while he gaped at them. How could they not know what chemistry was?

"Atoms? The tiny little things that make up literally everything in existence? Acids and bases? Elements?"

They both continued to look at him with identical looks of incomprehension.

"Seriously? Nothing? What do people take from the air when they breathe?"

"_From_ the air?" Neville asked. "What are you on about?"

Harry resisted the urge to either scream or say something scathing. Instead, he pushed himself from his chair and made his way towards the girl, ignoring the twin frowns that he knew were being directed at his back. How could someone not know what oxygen was?

Despite the failings of wizarding common knowledge, though, he still wasn't sure why someone was doing chemistry at Hogwarts. Had it been brought into one of the classes this year? If so he was interested; he'd always wondered how potions would react if you started using chemicals as well as potions ingredients.

"Hi," he said, ignoring the girl's squeak, "can I ask why you're doing chemistry? I didn't think it was taught here."

The girl's blush became a look of righteous indignation.

"Because I'm going to need to know it to get a job after Hogwarts just because my parents are muggle!" she said, glaring at him.

"How does being muggleborn mean you need to know chemistry?"

"Well I'm not going to get a job here am I?" the girl cried, only to immediately duck her head with a blush as every member of the common room turned to look at her.

"Alright, alright, calm down a second," Harry said as he dragged a chair over and sat down. "What's your name?"

"Savanah."

"Alright then Savanah, why don't you think you'll get a job here? And where is 'here' exactly? At Hogwarts?"

Savanah shook her head. "Not Hogwarts, the magical world."

Before Harry could open his mouth to ask why the hell she would think that she carried on, her anger seeming to burn through whatever embarrassment she had felt.

"We have to pick our third year options at the end of this year and I wanted to make sure that whatever I picked was actually useful, so I did some research to make sure I'm prepared. The library has loads of stuff on employment requirements and things like that – its probably meant for older students but Madam Pince didn't stop me looking at it."

Savanah shrugged. The fact that she had started researching her third year options months before she actually chose them reminded Harry of Hermione Granger only without all the negative traits, which was to say that she didn't remind him of Hermione Granger very much at all.

"And what did you find?"

"I didn't find much, but my dad did. I sent him copies of everything; he's a lawyer so he would find all the stuff I missed. He's been interested in what witches and wizards do after Hogwarts ever since I started anyway."

"What did your dad find then?"

Savanah pulled a letter from her pocket and slid in across the table. It was written on paper with a watermark for 'Golde and Stevens' at the top and had clearly been read and refolded dozens of times.

_Dear Savanah,_

_What you have sent me is troubling. There were several rather unsavoury laws that depend on 'blood status', but it is not these that give me particular cause for concern. It is the histories of certain positions among several other factors that I feel we should be more troubled by. I applaud your thoroughness in this regard._

Harry almost laughed at the formality of the letter. This was from her father? Frankly he was surprised that she had called him dad. Malfoy was his reference for aloof parents, and not once had he heard him call Lucius Malfoy anything but father.

_Firstly, there has not been a 'muggleborn' department head in over sixty years. Sixty seven, to be exact. I am unsure as to how prestigious the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is, but there has never been a muggleborn appointment to the post of Minister or to the head of the several other departments. That in itself indicates a wider bias that will undoubtedly not stop at those positions; in my experience things such as this trickle down to infect all other areas._

_For example, there was a muggleborn Head Auror a little over fifty years ago. This seems to be the level below the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement themselves, and yet when the head of the department retired a pureblood senior auror was instead promoted to take their place. This glass ceiling likely still exists and there are likely similar ceilings in other departments._

_Equally troubling is the statistics. Around 50% of most departments seem to be comprised of purebloods – which is concerning as they only make up 21% of the population according to the same statistics – and the other 50% is split roughly equally between halfbloods and muggleborns. These are only bulk statistics, so considering the information previously mentioned I think it likely that many of those of muggleborn heritage are lower on the totem pole and will remain in one job for an extended period of time without advancement. Of course, considering these statistics were released willingly by the Ministry their authenticity is not guaranteed. It could be even worse._

_Taxation also seems to be skewed to favour the wealthy, which in the vast majority of cases is very old pureblood families. There are even some stated benefits for families who can trace their magical lineage back a certain number of generations. I shouldn't have been surprised, of course, considering that these laws and regulations were all drawn up by the 'Wizengamot', the magical government that is comprised significantly by pureblood aristocracy. I know you are rather fond of magic, but from a moral, ethical, or legal standpoint it is utterly backwards. _

_I have enclosed what would have been your schoolbooks for both last year and this year. You're a very smart girl, I'm sure you can find time to learn both magical and non-magical content. I'm equally sure we can arrange for you to do your examinations when back from Hogwarts, and if not you can simply leave for the day and return after the exams are completed. That is assuming, of course, that you feel ready for them. If you don't we simply wait – it would be fair to assume that learning two curriculums at once will take twice as long so don't feel the need to rush. At least this way you have the necessary qualifications to get a job in our world if the magical one chooses to hold you back from your true potential._

_Loving regards,  
Arthur Stevens_

"Can I make a copy of this?" he asked.

Savanah nodded and Harry quickly copied the letter before he handed the original back to her. He knew that people looked down on muggleborns and even halfbloods to a certain extent, but he had thought it was just the rich fanning their own superiority complex. He had no idea that it was so institutionalised! He should have suspected once he learned about the medieval structure of the Wizengamot, but he hadn't thought they'd be able to push it so far without some sort of resistance. Hell, Voldemort's supporters had all believed that muggleborns were infringing on their rights! If _this _was infringing Harry honestly couldn't imagine what they would think was fair.

If he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived he would have been faced with caps and barriers even despite his skill simply because he was a halfblood. His mother wouldn't have been allowed to become anything of importance and everyone told him that she was a prodigy! How was that fair?

How far did it stretch? Did it extend into Gringotts? Were muggleborns barred from being cursebreakers or warders? What about mastery programs or research groups, dragon-taming or medical professionals? Were muggleborns barred from them too?

He was getting angry, he realised as he looked down at his clenched fingers, and he spent a few seconds calming himself down before he looked back towards Savanah. He wondered how many muggleborns would put up with such injustice. He certainly wouldn't in their position; he'd return to the muggle world if he was told that he couldn't become anything more than an underling. But then he'd have spent seven years learning magic that he couldn't use, and he would have to learn all the maths and science and geography that he would have learnt had he not been a wizard. His world would become mundane once more, tormented by the knowledge that magic was real but was lingering just out of reach. They might as well just snap his wand.

"Who have you told about this?" he asked quietly.

"Only my friends," she replied, fidgeting in her seat. "And you now, I guess."

"Everyone else should be told too. We don't want to scare everyone who isn't pureblood away, but they should at least know before they've spent seven years learning magic that is then useless because blood discrimination forces them back into the muggle world. Do you still have copies of the stuff you sent to your dad?"

Savanah nodded as she grabbed a thick mass of papers from her bag and handed them to him.

"I'll make sure people know," Harry said, already planning on making a poster of some sort with the most important and most shocking information – it shouldn't be too hard now that he knew what he was looking for. "And well done on finding this stuff. No one else has ever even thought to look, myself included."

Savanah gave him a hesitant smile as he stood from his seat before she returned to her work. Harry shook his head as he wandered back towards Susan and Neville.

"Well?" Neville asked carefully as he took in Harry's frown. "Why is she doing muggle schoolwork?"

Wordlessly, Harry handed over the letter.

Susan read it over Neville's shoulder, and Harry watched as their faces fell further the more they read.

"I knew that it wasn't exactly fair," Neville murmured, "but I didn't think it was that bad."

"That can't be right," Susan said weakly. "I know plenty of muggleborn aurors, and surely they wouldn't let them get away with it if it was that bad?"

"That's because it's the aurors, Sue," Neville said without moving his eyes away from the letter. "Not many people want to do something so potentially dangerous – the DMLE can't afford to be picky about something as pointless as blood status. And who's _they_? The Ministry? It's the Ministry that's doing it."

Susan struggle for a response for a few seconds before her mouth fell shut.

"I assume you're going to do something about it," Neville said as he handed the letter back.

Harry nodded.

"A poster maybe, or at least something along those lines. Muggleborns should at least know about it so that they have the option to study muggle subjects at the same time. Hell, some might decide it's not worth it and just go back to the normal world."

"Willingly leave magic behind forever?" Susan asked dubiously.

"Sure. I mean personally I wouldn't, but if someone had no particular interest or passion for any of the subjects then yeah. They could go back to the muggle world and be a doctor, an engineer, a musician or whatever else it is that they really want to do."

Neither she nor Neville seemed to believe that anyone would actually _choose _the muggle world over the magical one, but Harry certainly wasn't going to explain every possible reason why. That would just devolve into a history of muggle technology and science, not that he knew much about those himself anyway. Explaining that people had walked on the moon would be funny though.

Neville left for Gryffindor tower a few minutes later to a chorus of goodbyes from all corners of the room. He was an honorary Hufflepuff at this point and even had an open invitation to the Hufflepuff common room as long as an actual Hufflepuff was with him, and considering that he wasn't particularly friendly with either Ron or Seamus he spent a good amount of time there. It wasn't a sort of secret blessing or anything; there were plenty of others with similar invitations across the school from every house, Slytherin included. They were, unsurprisingly, the only house that allowed outsiders into their common room.

Harry quickly bid Susan goodnight and retreated to his dorm, where he spent the next few hours poring over the documents Savanah had sent her father and noting down exact dates and figures onto a scrap piece of parchment. His dormmates had long since fallen asleep by the time he had created the poster itself and charmed a few dozen copies, and he quickly threw his invisibility cloak over his head and crept from the dorm.

When the castle grudgingly pulled themselves from bed and made their way towards the Great Hall, they found the walls plastered with glossy parchment with a single word written in bold letters across the top: **Muggleborns**!

Many thought it some sort of prank at first, or even a poster filled with reasons their writer thought muggleborns inferior. When they got close enough to read it, however, they jolted in surprise before they ripped it from the wall and peered down at it, their eyes roving across the lines as their faces twisted in anger, and by the time the house tables were full it was all anyone was talking about.

The muggleborns were, understandably, furious. Rampant discrimination! How did anyone stand for it? They would be hard-pressed to find a decent job after Hogwarts, and if they tried to leave the magical world before they graduated they would be obliviated! A few of the more shrewd students in the lower years were already contemplating the pros and cons of such a decision. They spoke with their friends in whispers, waving the posters around angrily and glaring at the select group of purebloods who were preening. The teachers too were subjected to a multitude of glares. Why had they not told them that their education would more than likely be meaningless?

Within days more posters went up, this time announcing the formation of the Non-Magical Cultural Society. Harry had heard Malfoy loudly proclaiming that "the mudbloods must have made a mistake, the muggles don't _have_ any culture!" to the delight of the small group of hangers-on who had not left him now that he had lost the Black family. Pansy Parkinson in particular seemed to find it hilarious, or at least she did until a fifth year Ravenclaw transfigured her face into that of a pug. Frankly, there was very little difference.

Harry was a little startled by the divide that he had inadvertently caused. The muggleborn and most of the halfblood students on one side, and the purebloods on the other. There were of course exceptions, like Cedric Diggory or the Weasley twins who sided with the muggleborns despite their own pureblood status, and, to Harry's shock, there were even a select few muggleborn students who said they had no right to impose their will on this society when they had only just found it existed. Trying to ingratiate themselves with the wealthy families, Susan said, but still Harry couldn't believe that they would be naïve enough to think the likes of Draco Malfoy and Anette Selwyn would ever think them anything more than vermin.

Friendships that had spanned years suddenly broke apart as purebloods failed to grasp the problems that had their muggleborn friends so incensed. It has always been this way, they would say, so it must work, and why change something if it works? As friendships exploded, however, new friendships formed. Muggleborns from all houses huddled together at dinner, joking and laughing softly, but it was still not difficult to feel the undercurrent of anger that still rippled underneath. Even Hermione Granger seemed to have found a few people willing to tolerate her, though Harry doubted that would last long.

Within a matter of weeks everything about Hogwarts had shifted. No one cared about house rivalries anymore; the points system became meaningless, and the Quidditch Cup became nothing more than a brief distraction from the tension inside the castle. All the animosity that had before been centred around houses was now about blood status, and it had been amplified by several orders of magnitude.

Hufflepuff was relatively insulated from the worst of it simply because of the sort of people that were sorted there. Most were blessed with enough empathy to at least understand the other side's point of view even if they didn't agree with it, but that didn't mean there weren't a few 'debates' in the common room. Spells had only been cast on one occasion, luckily.

Gryffindor wasn't too bad either from what Neville had said – there was only a small group of bigots in the House of the Brave and they were hugely outnumbered, but when tensions did eventually boil over it became quite messy. Slytherin was mostly unaffected as well, beyond the crowing of certain pureblood students. There weren't many muggleborns or halfbloods in Slytherin anyway, and those few had enough self-preservation to keep their mouths shut.

Surprisingly, it was Ravenclaw that was most affected. They had plenty of muggleborns and purebloods alike, and as was the way in Ravenclaw their opinions tended to be held quite passionately. Debate quickly devolved into shouting and then into spells. More than a few Ravenclaws had been put in the hospital wing over it.

"Potter?"

Harry pulled his head out of his book and looked up at fifth year who had appeared next to him, to the great interest of many in the common room. Susan glanced up from their table and immediately returned to her essay.

"Palmer. What do you need?"

The boy in question took the seat next to Susan and leant forwards slightly, now quite conscious of the curious looks the rest of the common room was giving them.

"Well, I was just wondering why you don't come to any of the society meetings."

Harry looked at him in surprise.

"Oh come on Potter, I'm not an idiot. You get visibly angry talking to the girl doing chemistry work, she hands you a bunch of parchments and then the next day there's posters all over the walls? It doesn't take a genius to work out, especially given that we all know you're muggle raised. Why don't you come?"

Harry shrugged slightly and pretended not to notice that the scratching of Susan's quill suddenly became much slower.

"Because I don't think it would be fair. I may be muggle raised, but I'm also the Boy-Who-Lived and the last member of a pretty wealthy family who, frankly, is considerably above average as far as magic is concerned. Who is going to pass me over just because I'm not pureblood? If I turned up it would be like rubbing your faces in it. I won't face any problems for my blood status once I leave Hogwarts – all my anger about it comes from the fact that it's just not fair. Everyone I've spoken to says that my mother was a prodigy, and were she still alive she wouldn't be allowed to be anything of any consequence. That's what made me angry. It's not like you being angry that you will be confined to menial jobs."

Palmer nodded in somewhat confused understanding.

"Still, you could come anyway to learn about the stuff we'd be learning if we were still in school. We've got a whole load of books about everything from biology to classic English literature. Even got a few purebloods who come to learn about all the stuff non-magicals can do. People from all houses, Slytherin included. One of them's from your year actually, quite easy on the eyes too."

Palmer waggled his eyebrows and Harry just looked at him. Susan muffled a snort.

"I don't think Harry's even noticed girls yet," she giggled, "and considering how many girls who would clearly _love_ to drag him into a broom cupboard I doubt that the promise of Tracey Davis is going to convince him."

Harry did his best to ignore the implication that there were girls who wanted to do _that_ with him, exciting though the thought was. Had he just not noticed? He would have to be a little more observant from now on. From the smirk on Susan's face she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"How the hell did you know it was her?" Palmer whispered hurriedly. "If it gets out then she could be in a lot of trouble in Slytherin. Already one of the older members is casting disillusionment charms on her every time she comes to a meeting or goes back to their common room."

"Well it was hardly going to be Pansy Parkinson was it? Tracey is the only halfblood or muggleborn Slytherin girl in our year, and even though Daphne Greengrass is friends with her I doubt she'd care enough to risk her safety and her reputation to learn muggle subjects."

Harry gave Susan an impressed look. He certainly didn't give anyone in Slytherin enough thought to know their blood status, and he definitely didn't care who they were friends with.

"Just please don't tell anyone?" Palmer pleaded.

Both Harry and Susan nodded, and the frown disappeared from Palmer's lips as he breathed a sigh of relief before his gaze switched back to Harry.

"So, what do you say? It's fun."

Harry nodded ever so slightly. He was sure that learning about muggle subjects _was_ fun – he had always thought that biology would be rather fascinating the further you delved into it – but he doubted that there was actually very much of that.

"How much of your meetings are about learning and how much just becomes an angry echo-chamber?"

"Well, I mean," Palmer said, blushing ever so slightly, "there is _some_ politics and the like, but personally I think it's all a bit pointless. I mean, we're schoolkids. What can we do? I admit there are a few more… radical members, but it's not so bad. They're quite happy with the books and stuff once they've got it out of their system."

"Is Hermione Granger a member?" Susan asked suddenly.

Palmer grimaced and let out a low groan.

"I always thought people were exaggerating about her but honestly she's awful. One of the guy's dads is an English professor and he got him to send us a few books and plays, and Granger started harping on that we shouldn't read Lord of the Flies first because Shakespeare is _so_ much better. 'Oh but they're classics! You just have to start with the classics!_'_" he imitated in a voice very nearly as annoying as Granger's own.

"Yeah," Susan said, failing to contain her amusement, "I'm with Harry on this one. Putting the two of them in a room together is a recipe for disaster even without everything else."

Palmer looked back at Harry who nodded in agreement. Curses would more than likely fly if she tried to lecture him like she had in first year, and considering most of the curses he knew were on the nasty side he doubted it was a good idea.

"Well," Palmer said as he stood up, "if you change your mind you're more than welcome to come. And thanks for making sure we all found out in the first place."

Harry stared after him for a few seconds, wondering why Palmer was so keen on having him there until he chalked it up to the typical Hufflepuff trait of kindness. He had never really understood how some of his housemates' kindness, loyalty, and patience seemed to extend to every single person on earth. As far as he was concerned those things had to be earned.

Susan's snort drew him from his musing, her shoulders shaking with laughter that she was trying to keep quiet.

"Sorry," she said between breaths, "but I'm just imagining Granger lecturing a bunch of seventh years on Shakespeare."

"I'm surprised you know who Shakespeare is, Miss I-didn't-know-that-animals-breathe-oxygen."

"Well that's hardly important is it?" she sniffed. "I can breathe and that's all that matters."

Harry was struck with the sudden urge to headbutt the wall.

**~Scene Change~**

"Harry, could you stay behind a moment?"

Harry looked at Lupin in confusion. It was the last lesson of the day, yes, but today wasn't their now weekly dive into the pensieve. Was that what he wanted to talk about? The reduction from twice a week to once?

Neville and Susan had been quite surprised he continued to visit Lupin at all actually. They both knew that his relationship with the werewolf was a complex one and both had assumed that it was simply so that he could learn more about his parents. Now that Sirius was a free man they had thought he would drop Lupin and move to Sirius, especially as Sirius had so much more to tell. Stories from the Potter home, of his grandmother and his grandfather. There weren't many memories of note that Lupin was there for but Sirius wasn't. Already Harry had had to stop Sirius a few sentences into a more than one story because Lupin had already showed it to him.

Honestly, Harry wasn't entirely sure why he continued to go either. Lupin was a nice enough man and an excellent professor, but Harry doubted that he would ever be able to forget that Lupin had been content to keep his parents from him. Both Susan and Neville agreed with him on that. Was it because he felt he owed it to his parents to not hurt Lupin's feelings? Or so that Sirius didn't think he was just another container full of stories?

"I'd like to thank you, for making sure Sirius got his trial."

"We wouldn't have had to do anything if Dumbledore had done his job properly all those years ago."

"I'm sure that Albus had his reasons," Lupin said.

Harry resisted the urge to sneer. After his friends' frequent references to Fenrir Greyback's 'pack' he had done some brief research into the subject, and he had found that werewolves did indeed have a pack mentality with a strict hierarchy. He couldn't quite decide whether this refusal to see that Dumbledore had fucked up was a result of that pack mentality, wilful ignorance or just plain stupidity.

"Sirius said that your cousin Dudley is an interesting character," Lupin tried.

"He is."

Lupin sighed.

"You don't like me, do you Harry?"

"I like you just fine, professor."

"And yet you still have not used my first name after I've repeatedly said you are free to, yet you already do so with Sirius."

"Well I can hardly call him professor, can I?" Harry snarked.

"No, I daresay Sirius would hate being called that," Lupin said mildly. "He already said that James would be terribly disappointed that I'd betrayed our solemn swear that we were up to no good."

Harry stood there and looked at him. Lupin sighed again.

"I was going to tell you, you know. That I knew your parents."

"When?"

Lupin frowned uncomfortably.

"When the time was right."

"And I assume that would have been after you'd left Hogwarts."

"You have to understand Harry," Lupin said, "even now talking about them is painful. Especially for me-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Harry interrupted, a little irritated. "Pack mentality and all that. But it's painful for Sirius, painful for my aunt, _but they still did it._ Did it as soon as they could. You were unwilling to tell the orphaned son of your best friends about his parents because you were too scared that it might hurt."

"Harry…"

"May I go, professor? Dinner will be starting soon."

Lupin nodded tiredly, and with that Harry walked stiffly out. He didn't mind Lupin as a person, he really didn't. The man was kind, intelligent, gentle, but what he couldn't tolerate was his constant attempts to garner sympathy. Trying to make an orphan pity _you_ for the death of their own parents! It boggled the mind.

He stopped going to see Lupin after that. Sirius asked him about it in one of his letters – clearly Lupin had moaned about it – and he had explained everything. It hadn't been brought up again. Harry was willing to bet that Sirius had gotten quite irate with Lupin once he knew the full story; he rather doubted that Lupin had admitted that he had only told him that he knew his parents after a month, and even then only when forced.

The rest of the year passed rather quickly, especially once the dementors had been removed because of a Pettigrew sighting in Austria. Harry had spent the whole day seething when he saw it in the Prophet. The rat was running away to hide, it seemed.

Even exam season didn't throw too much of a shadow over things, especially once results came out and he found out that he had beaten Hermione Granger in everything but History of Magic, Herbology, and Potions, even if she had been annoyingly close in charms. He still wasn't sure how she had managed to do arithmancy, runes, divination, care of magical creatures, and muggle studies all at the same time, but frankly he didn't care enough to find out. He did resolve that he would try harder in both history and herbology next year, though. Trying to improve at potions was a pointless endeavour; Snape would give him a bad mark whatever he did.

The only thing that was causing him any problems was his runes project. It seemed that he had underestimated just how difficult it would be, which frankly was quite impressive considering that he had known that it would be incredibly difficult. He had broken down a not insignificant part of the spell already. The actual spell wasn't overly complex – or at least it didn't seem to be – only now he had hit a roadblock: where the secret was actually hidden, and that meant soul magic.

But soul magic was just so bloody vague! Some books said it was an abstract concept that could somehow still be manipulated, while others said it was something almost tangible that could be ripped and fractured. That particular book had spoken of something that it refused to even name – a container for a part of a soul that had been ripped off. The book hadn't given any reason why someone would want to do that though, so he had simply moved past it with a vaguely interested glance. Given how important the books said the soul was he doubted it could be a good thing to rip some off. He had already resigned himself to spending much of his time over summer with his head in a book.

Escaping the still intensifying conflict between the pureblood and non-pureblood factions was certainly an attractive prospect as well. Calling them factions sounded a little silly, as if they were two sides of a war, but he was starting to see how accurate that statement was. After the first couple of fights in the corridors and the occasional serious injury it became clear that this wasn't a simple disagreement that would be forgotten about within a few weeks. He was really starting to realise just what he had inadvertently caused when he stuck those posters to the wall.

Even on their final night at Hogwarts that divide was clear to see. It was still much like every other end of year feast that Harry had seen, but at the same time it wasn't. The laughter and the grinning was interrupted by occasional glares and scathing comments, tables were split into little groups of students from all years rather than yearmates sitting together as they always had done before, and there was a small group at one end of the Slytherin table that was being subjected to mocking or suspicious looks from the rest. It had been that way for weeks; a stark contrast to the united front that they had been showing for years.

Those that were suspected of being sympathetic towards the muggleborns, Harry assumed. They wouldn't be stupid enough to openly support the muggleborn side, of course, but that didn't stop the rest of the house from isolating them. He could see Tracey Davis talking quietly to an older student, and surprisingly Daphne Greengrass wasn't next to her. She was instead seated further down the table next to Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, though unlike them she didn't so much as glance towards the group at the other end.

Malfoy sneered at him when he caught his eye. He had been extremely angry ever since Sirius's trial, but he had been intelligent enough not to elevate it beyond glares and the occasional comment. Harry had been surprised and almost disappointed that he hadn't tried to curse him in the hallway. He'd been rather looking forward to embarrassing him.

The final scraps of dessert vanished from their plates as Dumbledore stood up, his smile seeming dim with each passing day.

"Another year of learning has finally come to an end, and as it does we must say goodbye to our seventh years as they leave Hogwarts to explore all that the magical world has to offer."

There was polite applause, as there always was. Several muggleborn seventh years glared at the Headmaster.

"Congratulations to them on completing their final year at Hogwarts, and congratulations to the rest of you on finishing this year of your magical education. Despite what some may believe, Hogwarts truly is the home of the best education you could hope for."

Justin snorted a few places down.

"I was down for Eton," he hissed. "Fucking Eton!"

Harry would have laughed at the anger in the normally gentle boy's voice if he didn't think that anger more than well justified.

"And with that, I bid all of you goodnight. I look forwards to seeing each of you on September 1st for another year of magic. It is sure to be…" he paused, his expression a strange mix of excitement, worry, and disappointment. "Interesting."

Harry shared a glance with Susan and Neville. Interesting? If the past three years hadn't been interesting then he really didn't want to see what an interesting year at Hogwarts truly was.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Dudley stared at the hand warily.

"He's not going to, like, drop me in a river or something is he?"

Dobby gave him an offended look.

"Dudley, what has gotten into you?" Aunt Petunia asked, though she too was eyeing the elf with more than a little unease as she held his hand delicately between two fingers. "If Harry says that Dobby will take us there then he I'm sure he will do so."

Dudley's gaze flicked towards his cousin for a second before they returned to Dobby, unwilling to let the elf out of his sight.

"It'll be fine Dudley," Harry assured him.

Appeased by Harry's assurances, if only barely, he grabbed a hold of Dobby's outstretched hand.

"He can only take two people at a time, so I'll see you both in a sec."

With that Dobby disappeared from the living room with Dudley and Aunt Petunia in hand, and a second later reappeared alone.

"Are they throwing up?"

Dobby nodded with a disgusted expression on his face. Harry laughed as he took a hold of Dobby's hand, and it took a great deal of effort to stop himself from laughing again when he reappeared on his front lawn. He did his best to ignore their glares as he vanished the twin piles of vomit with a flick of his wand. He was no seer but he suddenly saw a lot of chores in his future. If Aunt Petunia was feeling particularly vicious she'd make him hand over his wand beforehand.

"We can take the knight bus back if you want, but honestly that's just as bad and takes much longer. Magical transport isn't the greatest."

"You can bloody well say that again," Aunt Petunia muttered as she finally recovered enough to take in where they were, and instantly sucked in a shocked breath. Dudley too was staring at the house wide-eyed.

"This is _yours?_"

"Yep, it was my grandparents. Nice right?"

"It's beautiful," Aunt Petunia said as her eyes roved appreciatively over the bushes, shrubs, and flowers that ran around the edge of the house. "I suppose I have Dobby to thank for the recent improvement in our garden?"

Harry nodded.

"I asked him to help out inside as well."

Dudley seemed to shrink under the look that Aunt Petunia pinned him with.

"Really? Dudley has been telling me that he's been cleaning when he gets home from school so that I don't have to."

"So Harry," Dudley said quickly, "can we see inside now?"

Harry would have been partial to admiring the exterior a little longer – the fact that it would prolong Dudley's torment didn't even enter his mind, of course – but his cousin was already hurrying towards the front door. He shared an amused glance with his aunt as they followed down the path.

The interior was met with much the same reaction as the exterior; Dudley spent much of the time trying to wrap his head around the fact that his barely fourteen year old cousin owned such a nice house that was somehow bigger on the inside, and Aunt Petunia murmured appreciatively about various features and furnishings as he guided them through the house.

"I assume this is where you've been disappearing to," she said once he had showed them everything, with the deliberate exception of the training room, "especially given the size of this library."

"I haven't spent _that_ much time in here," Harry said, though from the look his aunt gave him she knew he was lying.

Dudley was stood a few feet away in the bookshelves and, for what must have been the first time in his life, utterly engrossed in a book. Harry cocked his head to the side to get a look at the title that was written down the spine.

_Combat Potions._

That made sense given that Dudley had his boxing title match tomorrow and was quite clearly nervous for it. Aunt Petunia too seemed to have noticed the book.

"Dudley…"

"But if I only have a little bit? Like a quarter dose or something?"

"Sorry Dud, but I've got no idea if you can even take potions if you're not a wizard."

Dudley frowned before he flipped the book closed and slid it back onto the shelf – in the wrong place, annoyingly – and then Aunt Petunia quickly led the way out, already running late for work. Harry offered to have Dobby apparate them again, but both she and Dudley opted to try the Knight Bus instead.

"It surely can't be any worse," Aunt Petunia had insisted. By the time she stepped shakily off the bus, muttering scathingly all the while, Harry was sure that she would have rather walked.

The next evening, Dudley grinned at him across the living room as Aunt Petunia hurried for the door, tussling his hair on her way past. Normally he would have minded that, maybe grunted "gehoff" with an indignant look that Aunt Petunia would ignore, but he was still far too pleased with himself to care. He didn't even seem to notice his black eye.

"I'm so proud of you, Dudley!" Aunt Petunia cried as she came back in, pizza boxes in hand. "Regional champion! And you only started boxing last year!"

Dudley preened under the praise as he dragged a whole box towards him. Harry couldn't tell whether he was more proud of his win or the fact that Aunt Petunia had let him have an entire pizza to himself.

"You were great, Dud. That was one hell of a…" he paused, trying to remember the right word from Dudley's enthusiastic lectures on the technical aspects of punching someone into unconsciousness, "haymaker?"

Dudley nodded happily despite the fact his mouth was filled with pizza.

"The kid had no hope of getting up from that one, trust me."

"Dudley, don't speak with your mouth full," Aunt Petunia scolded.

The two boys shared a glance. They may be getting to eat pizza in the living room with a movie on, but there were certain things that Aunt Petunia would always be strict on.

"Say, mum," Dudley said slowly, "as I won, and my grades were good this year, can I-"

"No, Dudley, for the hundredth time, you cannot go to the Quidditch World Cup. Especially considering it was Harry that was given the tickets and he doesn't even want to go."

"Worth a try," he muttered.

"They're going to be upset enough that I gave the tickets to Sirius," Harry said. The pair of tickets the Ministry had sent him were for the Minister's box, after all; they were going to be pissed when Sirius Black turned up with no Harry Potter.

"Well if they're going to be upset anyway you might as well let me have the other one."

"Dudley, for the last time. No."

Dudley frowned and bit into his pizza with particular viciousness.

"It's alright," Harry said, "quidditch isn't great to watch anyway. There's just too much happening at once to keep track of what's actually going on."

"We're not all as dim-witted as you, cousin," Dudley said with a pompousness that Draco Malfoy would be proud of.

"Call me dim-witted again and I won't let you have any more of my chocolate frogs."

He almost gaped at the guilty look Dudley gave him.

"Christ, I must have brought back about a hundred!"

"I needed energy for the fight!"

"Dudley," Aunt Petunia said, "given how many of those things Harry brought back you'd have gone into a coma from the sugar if you'd eaten them all today."

Dudley blushed and struggled for something to say but came up empty, causing a smug expression to come over Aunt Petunia's face for a second before she took another bite of her pizza. Harry spent a second marvelling over just how strange Aunt Petunia looked eating takeaway pizza until an idea squirmed into life in his head. A devious grin appeared on his face, and all of a sudden Dudley looked very on edge.

"But Dud," he said in his most concerned voice, "how are you going to get abs if you're eating all that chocolate? You'll never impress Zoe Pritchard at this rate."

"Harry!"

"Who is Zoe Pritchard, Dudders?" Aunt Petunia asked with nothing more than innocent curiosity, which quickly became a smirk that looked very out of place on her face. "Do I need to give you the talk? Or should I ask Sirius to do the honours?"

Dudley blushed fiercely, much to Aunt Petunia's amusement.

"You bloody traitor!" Dudley hissed at him.

Harry grinned as he took another sip of his drink and listened to Dudley's stilted – and largely modified – explanation of his most recent crush. He was almost tempted to mention some of the awkward interactions Jason had told him about at the park the other day, but he thought this was punishment enough. If Dudley had touched his sugar quills, however…

**~Scene Change~**

Harry scowled as he read Sirius's letter. A death eater attack at the world cup! Sirius had been involved in the defence and had arrived just in the nick of time to rip a masked attacker off a bound woman as he pawed at her clothes. The attacker was now in Azkaban, minus a certain appendage.

His scowl only deepened as he looked towards the day's Daily Prophet. "_Drunken Looters Cause Mayhem!"_ was the title that was plastered across the front page along with a picture of the Dark Mark squirming in the sky. How could they claim it was drunken looters when _that_ was cast? It was hardly a commonly known spell! The article spoke of the "incident" with a muggle family and the general carnage, but there was no mention of injuries or casualties. Sirius hadn't mentioned them either, but he was willing to bet there were plenty of both.

The death eaters were starting to crawl out of the woodwork, and that meant that something was giving them confidence. Maybe Voldemort was making a move to regain his body, or maybe a few of the more stupid death eaters had finally given in and scratched their itch for violence. Harry prayed that was the latter, but he nonetheless decided that he would have to spend a great deal of time in the Come and Go room this year. He had made progress with his runes project over the summer break but that could take a backseat now. He had bigger things to worry about. If only these bloody headaches would go away long enough for him to concentrate.

**~Scene Change~**

Harry eyed the young-looking witch speculatively from his spot at the Hufflepuff table. She was sat in the seat that Lupin had occupied last year so assumedly she was the new defence professor. He was still a bit surprised that Lupin had resigned given how difficult it was for a werewolf to hold down a job under normal circumstances, but by his own admission he had only come to Hogwarts because he thought that Sirius would try to get in. Harry just hoped that this professor was at least competent.

He wasn't the only one taking the measure of their new instructor, but the vast majority were too busy chattering with their friends in between bites of food. It felt very much like every other start of year feast he'd been at, but judging by some of the glares that were being thrown around that wouldn't last long. A few of the older years were already explaining the situation to the new first years, who quite understandably looked even more uneasy than they had before.

"Reckon she'll be any good?" he asked.

"Her name's Sarah Hughes – Auntie said she was an auror up until last year," Susan said with a glance up at the head table. "She was accused of a few things – completely baseless – and given the choice of either resigning or trying to fight it. Auntie was sure that it was because she had taken interest in a case linked to some powerful purebloods and tried to get her to fight the accusations, but she refused to carry on working for the Ministry."

"Bet it was Malfoy."

Susan shrugged, but there weren't too many people with that much pull in the Ministry. Even without their claim to the Black family the Malfoy vaults were full to overflowing.

Dessert vanished from their plates as Dumbledore stood up, and Harry heard murmuring start up around the hall. Clearly he wasn't the only remembered being told that this year would be "interesting".

"To all our new first years, a very warm welcome to Hogwarts. To all our returning students, welcome back. I have an announcement to make, but first I would like to introduce our new staff member. Professor Sarah Hughes will be taking up the Defence Against the Dark Arts post this year."

Professor Hughes stood to lukewarm applause. A new defence professor had become such a fixture of the start of year feasts that no one really cared anymore.

"First of all, a few notices." Half the hall groaned and Dumbledore chuckled to himself, his eyes twinkling. "Mr Filch has asked me to tell you that the list of banned items has been extended this year. The full list includes some four hundred and seventy-three items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch's office by any interested parties.

"As ever, the forest on the grounds is out of bounds to all students," he continued, seemingly to take an inordinate amount of joy from making them wait, "as is the village of Hogsmeade to all those below third year. This final notice is directed towards our sixth and seventh years; it is my painful duty to inform you that there will be no free periods for the next month and a half."

The seventh years erupted into protests, crying that it was their NEWT year. Harry heard several particularly colourful insults, along with more than a few threats. Dumbledore seemed exceptionally amused by the whole thing.

"As I was saying," he said once they had finally quietened, but certainly not calmed, "the free periods of all sixth and seventh years have been rescheduled as language classes." Sounds of confusion echoed around the hall. "You will all be learning Russian, the primary language spoken at Durmstrang."

Some of the confusion on the faces of the older students melted into horror. Durmstrang's reputation certainly wasn't a pretty one, and by the looks of things they would be going there for some reason.

"The Durmstrang Academy has the great honour of hosting a competition not held in centuries." Dumbledore paused dramatically, the candles that hovered overhead seeming to dim. "_The Triwizard Tournament!_"

There was a moment of shocked silence before the entire hall burst into uproar. Sixth and seventh years were whooping in gleeful excitement, and Harry could hear the Weasley twins already proclaiming that they were going to win it. Personally he had no idea what the Triwizard Tournament was, but he was willing to bet that it was going to be held at Hogwarts before Crouch got found out.

Dumbledore briefly explained the history of the tournament, an explanation that Harry ignored. He didn't particularly care about the history of a tournament he would likely be half a continent away from and, if he wasn't, one that fully planned on avoiding. His ears did prick when Dumbledore mentioned it had been discontinued due to the death toll, though, and he found himself thanking his lucky stars that it was being held at Durmstrang and not Hogwarts.

"Eager though I know you all are to bring the cup to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, "all three schools and their respective ministries have agreed that only students who are of age – that is to say seventeen years old – will be permitted to enter."

Almost every student below seventeen immediately started shouting protests about how that was unfair. The Weasley twins looked like someone had killed their dog. Harry breathed a sigh of relief; there was absolutely no chance that he was going to get chosen. This would be a nice quiet year.

A part of his mind was sure that he had just jinxed it.

"This is to ensure the safety of the competitors," Dumbledore said, having to raise his voice above the din, "as all tasks are likely to be dangerous in the extreme. Myself and those eligible to enter will be travelling to Durmstrang in October and staying there for the greater part of the year. For everyone not of age, Hogwarts will remain the same with Professor McGonagall acting as headmistress in my stead. And now, it is late. Off to bed. Chop chop!"

The scraping of benches echoed around the hall as students began to swarm towards the door. Several of the younger sixth year students stayed where they were for a second and glared up at Dumbledore, who didn't even seem to notice as he chatted merrily with Flitwick.

Much of the castle spent the next few days stewing, muttering scathing comments about Dumbledore and insisting that they should be allowed to enter the tournament. Harry had even heard a few of the Gryffindor third years moaning about it. Third years! The thought that they would be picked was ludicrous, and even if they were they would almost certainly die.

Not for the first time did he thank his lucky stars that he wasn't in Gryffindor. Neville had mentioned that the Weasley twins were trying their very best to bribe a seventh year into entering their name but had so far been refused. Harry seriously doubted it would be that easy to cheat your way in, but then the Weasley twins weren't exactly known for their intellect. If it couldn't be used in a prank they weren't interested.

That anger from the tournament did also have the effect of sparking the blood feud back into life with renewed vigour. It was as bad as it had been at it's very peak last year within a week and Harry was relieved that the professors were dealing with it much better than they had before. Clearly it had been a matter of priority over the summer.

"I think Ron's in love," Neville quipped with a glance towards the Gryffindor table.

Harry paused mid-bite to peer over Susan's shoulder and, sure enough, Weasley was staring moon-eyed up at Professor Hughes. She wasn't an unattractive witch by any means and she was a damn good professor, but Harry thought that Weasley's sudden infatuation was more due to the fact that she'd taken thirty points off Malfoy and given him detention with Filch for the next month. Snape would surely try and have it rescinded, but the little ponce _had_ come onto her during class while simultaneously insulting her blood status and making an insinuation about what happens when you go against a Malfoy. Harry couldn't believe that a fourth year had said _that_ to an adult witch at all, never mind done so and expected success.

"I can't blame him," Cedric said from the place next to Susan. She blushed fiercely when he smiled at her, a fact that Harry and Neville were going to take great pleasure from teasing her about.

"Don't let Cho hear you say that," Neville said. "I've heard tales."

Harry shuddered. He'd heard the same tales; he wondered if Towler had recovered from that particular freezing charm yet.

"We broke up," Cedric shrugged, though he did throw a wary glance over his shoulder. "I'll be at Durmstrang and she won't, and she had pretty insane demands for how many letters she expected me to write. Who the hell writes a letter at least once a day? The bloody owl can't fly that quickly!"

Harry grinned at the sudden spark in Susan's eyes, as did Neville.

"Speaking of Durmstrang, how's the language lessons?"

Cedric groaned, and his yearmates around him burst into laughter.

"Poor Ced here can't learn Russian to save his life," Jefferies said as he patted Cedric cheerfully on the back. "We've got potions that are supposed to help make us at least conversational within a month, but our instructor says that Ced here is even worse than someone who hadn't taken the potion."

They burst into laughter again. Cedric smiled good-naturedly at them.

"I'll be fine by the time we go. India Harper from Ravenclaw has agreed to help me out. Her mum's Russian you see," he continued, ignoring his friends' oohing and crude hand gestures, "so she's been speaking it since she was a kid."

"You must be fluent by now then, considering how many hours you spend with her. I assume you keep staring at her lips to make sure you get your pronunciation right?"

Cedric gave Jefferies the finger even despite his amused smile.

"Better than you staring at Professor Sinatra's arse," he smirked. "And besides, I doubt the Goblet of Fire will care how well I speak Russian when it picks my name."

The seventh years descended into good natured bickering, but everyone knew that Cedric was the favourite. Bole and Warrington from Slytherin also had a chance, as did Angelina Johnson and Roger Davies, but Harry thought that Cedric was more likely. He hoped that Cedric got picked; maybe that would dissuade everyone from the notion that Hufflepuffs were just the people no other house wanted. His own sorting into Hufflepuff and his 'adventures' since had helped a little in that regard, but it would be nice not be called duffers for once.

**~Scene Change~**

He'd expected some sort of ceremony or something, or at the very least some flashy method of travel, but instead he and the rest of the school simply stood on the steps of the entrance hall and watched all the seventeen year olds make their way towards the carriages as if it was just another Hogsmeade weekend. It was all very anticlimactic, and more than a few people could be heard grumbling about being forced to stay.

Harry was a little peeved that they'd been pulled out of class for it actually. If it was potions or herbology he'd have considered it a blessing, obviously, but he'd been pulled out of defence. Professor Hughes's focus for defence class was on how to get away as soon as possible as opposed to how to win a duel, and so she concentrated on charms that would distract attackers to give a chance for escape. He rather admired her optimism in trying to teach fourth years the disillusionment charm when it was normally taught at the end of the fifth.

Surprisingly, he had never really considered using delayed explosions, high-pitched sounds or half of the other things she had told them they'd be covering. He hadn't even been aware that there were spells that did such things, though he supposed it should have been obvious there would be; there were spells for almost everything. And, despite the fact that he was being taught them for the exact opposite reason, he was now starting to figure out ways to incorporate them into duels.

Susan and Neville had both expressed interest in learning to duel as well. After the debacle at the world cup they were both keen on learning to defend themselves and both assumed, quite correctly, that he was more than capable of teaching them. He doubted they would approve of a good proportion of the spells he knew though, and judging by the edge he had heard in their voice when they asked they were well aware of that fact.

He'd said yes, of course. He could hardly say no could he? They were his friends. The insistent idea of showing them the Come and Go room again reared its head, only this time it was much harder to swipe away. Why shouldn't he tell them? After the Pettigrew incident the secret of what he was learning in there was very much out of the bag. There was no point trying to act like he wasn't learning the sort of magic that most people would disapprove of. And yet, they were still friends with him. They hadn't betrayed and left him like Hannah did.

Even if they did follow Hannah's lead after he'd shown them the Come and Go room, it was not as monumental a loss as it had been before. He had his house now; he had books, even more than the room had, and he had dummies very nearly as good as the ones the room provided. The excuses he had used to justify keeping it secret had more or less evaporated, and just liking somewhere he could disappear to when he wanted to be alone didn't really cut it by itself.

He looked sideways at Neville as the teachers finally allowed them to go inside. They didn't have any more classes today and dinner wasn't for another two hours. No time like the present, he supposed. Before he found some other excuse to hide behind.

"Come on," he said as the crowd dispersed, "might as well have a defence lesson of our own."

Neville looked surprised, and Harry was sure that Susan had a similar expression on his other side. He followed the crowd into the entrance hall, but instead of joining the river of Hufflepuff students making their way into the basement he led them up the staircase. They split off from the students making their way up to the towers and slipped into a passageway that took them up to seventh floor, and then Harry led them through a series of corridors.

"Er, Harry?" Neville asked as they passed room after room. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see in a second."

He supposed that they both they both assumed he was taking them to an abandoned classroom. That was where he'd told them he'd been going to be fair, but it would be a little difficult to learn how to fight with nothing to fight against.

Their looks of confusion became tinged with worry when he started to pace in front of the wall, probably thinking that he'd finally lost it. Susan gasped audibly when the door appeared, and Harry didn't bother hiding his amusement as he turned to them.

"Welcome to the Come and Go room," he said as he pushed the door open, sweeping his arm in a low bow like a medieval chamberlain.

The room was configured just as it always was, albeit with a few of the especially vicious tomes removed.

"This is amazing," Susan breathed, twisting her neck this way and that to peer up at all the bookcases. "Why hasn't anyone heard of it before?"

"Because it didn't exist until thirty seconds ago. Well, not like this at least. I'm not sure what it's like when it's not in use actually."

Susan frowned in confusion.

"This room becomes whatever you want it to, at least within reason anyway. If you paced along that wall three times thinking about a swimming pool, the room would become a swimming pool."

"What did you ask it for?"

"Somewhere to learn to defend myself. It gave me this library and that training area," he said, pointing into the adjoining room.

Susan shared a glance with Neville when she noticed the occlumency books on the shelves. That certainly explained a few things.

"Not just to learn magic?" Neville asked as Harry led them past the bookshelves.

Harry shrugged slightly.

"I've used it for that as well, but at the time I was more focussed on not dying next time someone tried to kill me."

Susan ignored his sarcasm as she looked around the training area and made a hum of appreciation. It was a lot like the one she'd seen in the auror department when she visited her aunt at work.

"So, Professor," Neville smirked, "what are you going to teach us first?"

"Call me professor again and I'll make you duel those dummies over there without your wand."

"Sorry sir."

Harry resisted the urge to transfigure his tie into a snake, if only barely.

"First order of business is dodging," he said, smiling rather cruelly at Neville, "and after that is spell redirection. Both are much better than a shield and much less draining as well."

"No spells?" Susan asked.

"No point in knowing loads of spells if you can't defend long enough to cast any of them." He left it unsaid that they wouldn't want to learn a lot of the spells he knew. "Neville, you're up first. You're up second as well, and if you're lucky you might even get to go third too."

Neville gave him a one-finger salute in reply.

**~Scene Change~**

Neville scowled at him across the hall and Harry did his most apologetic shrug in reply. He didn't like Halloween, so if his stinging hexes had been a little more powerful than usual it really hadn't been his intention. The ones that Neville hadn't been able to dodge – which was most of them – had left nasty welts if they had hit exposed skin. He had healed them, obviously, but that hadn't made Neville much happier. Harry put it down to Neville's own dislike for Halloween and left it at that.

Thankfully, this Halloween feast was quite different to all the others. Those had all been about celebrating Voldemort's supposed defeat and therefore his parents' deaths, but at this one all conversation was being dominated by the Triwizard Tournament. The champions were being selected by the Goblet of Fire tonight and the hall was abuzz with speculation. That was the only reason Harry was even there; McGonagall had said that Dumbledore would be sending a patronus as soon as the champions had been selected.

The Hufflepuff table was obviously all rooting for Cedric, but the other tables were a bit more split instead of simply supporting their house's most likely candidate – beliefs on blood getting involved yet again.

"So Sue," he said, smirking in a way that set her on edge, "if Cedric gets picked are you going to send him a letter?"

"Piss off Harry."

"What? Just to congratulate him, obviously. Nothing more than that. Whatever else could I have meant?"

He chuckled as he returned to his food, immensely enjoying her growl of annoyance. His fork was halfway to his mouth when the doors of the Great Hall burst open, and suddenly all chattering stopped. Harry looked up and saw Dumbledore standing in the doorway, his normal jovial expression absent, and felt a very bad feeling settle in his stomach. Had something gone wrong at the tournament already?

"The champions have been chosen," he said softly. "The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory."

There was scattered applause around the hall, but few were ignorant enough to miss Dumbledore's weariness. A heaviness overtook the Hufflepuff table. Had something happened to Cedric?

"The Goblet was tampered with," Dumbledore continued to a chorus of gasps, "and made to believe that there was a fourth school in the competition. A single name was entered under this fourth school."

Harry felt the weight in his stomach double as Dumbledore turned sorrowful eyes towards him.

"Harry Potter."

The worry for Cedric was swiftly replaced by shock, and then by white-hot anger. Every fucking year!

He felt the fork bend in his hand and blinked, only now noticing his fist that was clenched so tight it had become white. Even Susan was shying away from him, and he drew in a shuddering breath as he gently lowered his cutlery to the table. The sharp clink of metal against his plate sounded much louder in the silence of the hall. He was sure that he saw the boy next to him flinch. He spent long moments staring down at the table as he ruthlessly pulled the anger back, and only once he had forced it into it's cage did he look back towards Dumbledore.

"You're sure it took?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"You must compete or face the loss of your magic, and quite possibly your life as a consequence."

Harry felt a shock of fear run through him as horrified gasps echoed around the hall. This was an assassination attempt, it had to be.

"Please go and pack your things, Harry. I will escort you to Durmstrang where you then must stay for the duration of the tournament; it is, unfortunately, a condition of the magical contract."

"Is it possible to leave in the morning, headmaster? I feel I should explain to my family what has happened."

Dumbledore nodded. "That is agreeable."

Harry could only imagine Aunt Petunia's reaction when he told her, especially when she learnt the tournament's history. He considered keeping that bit from her but knew that would be impossible with Sirius involved.

His appetite now lost, Harry pushed himself from his seat and stalked from the hall. It wasn't until he was beyond the doors that the silence finally shattered, and by that time all he could hear was noise. A part of him wondered how many people were stupid enough to think he'd somehow entered himself from across the continent.

He flicked his wand to cast a patronus and watched Prongs bound away to tell Sirius to meet him at his aunt's house. He sucked in a deep breath before he continued on his way towards the Whomping Willow, trying to use the time to calm himself enough to think clearly. Who had entered his name into the tournament and why? Unsurprisingly, every possible explanation he came up with was pretty dire, and so by the time he appeared with a soft crack in the alley a few hundred metres from his aunt's house he was in no better a mood than when Dumbledore had first said it.

Sirius was in his aunt's front room when he got there, tapping anxiously on the arm of his chair while his leg bounced. Aunt Petunia was above such uncouth behaviors but even she was fiddling with her ring from her place on the edge of the sofa, and Dudley was sat next to her and eating crisps without a care in the world. Harry felt the edge of his lips tug slightly.

"Harry!" Aunt Petunia cried when she saw him in the doorway. "Is everything okay? Has something happened?"

Harry nodded and turned his eyes to Sirius.

"My name came out of the Goblet."

Sirius cursed loudly.

"The goblet?" his aunt asked, worry mixing with confusion. "What goblet?"

"The Goblet of Fire is a magical artefact used to select the champions for the Triwizard Tournament, which is currently being held at Durmstrang, the wizarding school for Eastern Europe," Sirius said, his voice resigned. "The tournament takes a participant from each of three major European schools who then compete against each other. Supposedly its an honour to be chosen."

"Cool!"

"Not cool, Dud. The tournament was discontinued four hundred years ago because the death toll got too high."

Dudley's grin melted and his skin paled, his expression suddenly terrified. Somehow, Aunt Petunia looked even worse.

"Surely you don't have to compete if you don't want to," Aunt Petunia said, pleading rippling in her voice. "You're fourteen years old! If it's such an honour I'm sure people will be lining up to take your place."

"As soon as my name came out I was bound to a magical contract. If I don't compete I lose my magic."

"And losing your magic almost certainly means losing your life as well," Sirius finished.

The silence that settled over the room was heavy enough to force Harry to fall limply into a chair.

"How in God's name did your name come out if its being held across the continent?" Aunt Petunia asked quietly.

Harry had expected her to be shrill with worry. Instead, she was furious.

"The Durmstrang headmaster is a death eater," Sirius said. "He managed to stay out of Azkaban by betraying every other death eater he knew about."

Harry looked at him sharply; how the hell had a death eater been allowed to become headmaster of a school? He snorted to himself as soon as the thought entered his head. Why was he even surprised? Snape had been allowed to become Head of Slytherin.

"Reckon he did it?"

Sirius shrugged.

"As a good a bet as any, even if he is a coward."

Harry got the message; the Durmstrang headmaster wouldn't do it unless he was commanded to. Unless _Voldemort _commanded him to.

By the time he left Harry was sure that Charlie was going to have a busy year what with his aunt's frankly obsessive letter demands. He felt a little better after having time to process it – whatever the tasks were he was sure that he'd be able to cope with it after a little preparation – but he was even more worried than he had been before.

The revelation that it was in all likelihood Voldemort's doing wasn't all that surprising, but being in a school under the control of a death eater that had likely been a part of the scheme to get him there meant that every little thing could be used against him.

"I want you to have eyes in the back of your head," Sirius said as they walked towards the alleyway. "You need to be watching every single thing at all times. Food, drink, teachers, students. Everything."

"Sirius, I don't have enough eyes to watch every single thing."

"Get some more then. Have a few people you trust to keep an eye on things you can't."

"Neville and Susan will both still be at Hogwarts. It'll just be me."

"There _are_ other Hogwarts students you know," Sirius said sarcastically. "Knowing what Hufflepuffs are like I bet you won't be able to stop them from watching out for you."

Harry frowned slightly.

"Yeah, I guess."

They walked the last little way in silence while Harry thought on what Sirius had said. Hopefully he was right, although he was sure that there would be a few that were upset that they weren't chosen as a champion and he was, never mind the fact that he clearly hadn't entered himself. But even having people watching out for him wouldn't make him safe; food and drink could still be spiked, as could potions if he was injured in one of the tasks. He was already planning on looking up a few charms to check for various poisons before he left tomorrow.

"Come on," Sirius said once they had slipped into the alley, "let's get you back to Hogwarts. Better side-along than the knight bus."

There was a small smirk on Sirius's face as he remembered Harry's hatred for that particular mode of travel, but Harry took one look at the outstretched hand and immediately apparated to Hogsmeade himself.

"Who the hell taught you to do that?" Sirius exclaimed when he appeared next to him with a crack that was, to Harry's pride, only slightly quieter than his own.

"No one."

"You learnt to apparate _by yourself?_" he whispered furiously as he hurried after him.

"Yep. The most I ever splinched was the tip of my eyebrow."

"Do you have _any idea_ how dangerous that is? Not to mention illegal?"

"Says the unregistered animagus," Harry retorted. "I'd say that was more dangerous for a kid in school to learn. And besides, I think it best that I know how to do it, don't you?"

Sirius scowled at him but stopped his tirade nonetheless, though a few times on their walk through the village towards the Hogwarts gates he looked ready to start again. Really though, Sirius Black was in no position to lecture anyone about doing dangerous things.

Hagrid was waiting for them at the gates and quickly let them in, and after a simple concerned look started going on about some of his newest creatures. That was one thing Harry liked about Hagrid – he was caring and much more perceptive than he let on, even if most of the time he was utterly oblivious.

When they reached the entrance hall Sirius was led up the stairs, presumably to see Dumbledore, while Harry made his way towards the basement. He was actually quite curious how people were taking it; he was sure there were some idiots that thought he convinced a seventh year to enter his name or something. The name Ron Weasley sprung to mind.

Unsurprisingly, almost the entirety of the house was waiting for him in the common room. Each gave him a concerned or sympathetic look when they met his eyes, and he replied with a nod as he made his way to where Susan and, surprisingly, Neville were sat.

"How'd your aunt take it?" Neville asked.

Harry shrugged.

"Scared, angry, worried. About what you'd expect really. Dudley was pretty much the same, except I'm sure on some level he still thought it was cool." His lips twitched slightly. "Glory, fame, and prize money."

"Do you think it was…?"

"Yeah. Apparently the Durmstrang headmaster – Karkaroff – is a death eater who was spared Azkaban because he sold out as many other death eaters as he could. Voldemort probably said if he did it he'd be forgiven or something."

"They let someone like that be in charge of a _school?_" Susan hissed.

"Have you forgotten about Snape?" he asked sarcastically.

Her scowl deepened even further.

"You're going to have to watch yourself then," Neville said in concern.

"Oh I know. I'm going to make sure I get that language potion before I leave tomorrow; I'm sure as shit not getting it from Durmstrang."

Neville snorted.

He didn't sleep well that night, plagued by thoughts of Voldemort, and when he finally did fall into a fitful slumber his dreams were filled with all the things that had killed champions from years past. Manticores and dragons, banshees and chimera. He was sat by the fireplace in the common room before the clock had even struck four. Susan was one of the first students down, clearly unable to sleep either judging by the bags under her eyes, and she immediately started fussing over him. Harry actually quite liked it, and by the time there was a knock at the common room half an hour later she had taken to sitting so close to him that he could practically feel her worry while listing tasks from tournaments past, insisting that he could have completed all of them.

"I think this is the earliest I've ever seen you awake, Longbottom," Harry said as one of the other students in the common room let him in. "I'm honoured."

"I'm not here for you, you cocky bastard. I'm here because Ron's been pestering me since I got back last night about how you managed to enter."

Harry snorted.

"Weasley really is a fucking idiot."

"Agreed," Susan said.

Harry was a little surprised she hadn't told him off for swearing.

The common room slowly filled up as people woke up and made their way to breakfast. Some offered words of support, others just a nod, and one or two offered to walk down to breakfast with him. Harry refused; he wasn't really feeling very hungry.

The low murmuring of the common room suddenly cut off, and Harry turned around to see Dumbledore and Professor Sprout stood in the doorway.

"Better go pack my stuff," he sighed.

He returned a few minutes later, his trunk shrunken and in the pocket of his heavy winter cloak. Susan looked close to tears even despite the vicious frown on her face.

"Don't you dare get yourself killed over this stupid tournament," she demanded as she yanked him in for a hug. "You'll be able to deal with whatever they throw at you as long as you don't get cocky."

"I don't–"

She glared at him.

"You like your flashy spells, don't bother denying it. I've seen you practicing, remember."

"I have to agree with Sue on that mate," Neville said, a small smile on his face. "You do like your flashy spells."

"They're useful. If you haven't learned at least four flashy spells by the time I get back I'm going to give you both Trolls."

"Yes professor," Neville said as he pulled him into a hug.

"Now," Neville said once he let go, "we want letters. Lots of them. You think something's suspicious, write it down and send it to us. Me and Sue are much smarter than you and will catch the things you will undoubtedly miss."

"I'm going to have to buy another owl at this rate."

"A small price to pay for getting to read Sue's shitty handwriting," Neville grinned. Susan hit him.

Harry glanced towards the patiently waiting headmaster before he pulled an aging piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to a shocked Neville.

"What? There's no point in me keeping it is there?"

"But… your dad…"

"My dad wouldn't want his creation being wasted. You'll need it more than me."

"Probably not," Susan smiled tightly as Neville delicately put the parchment into his pocket. "Without you here I bet we'll have a quiet year at Hogwarts."

"Probably," Harry said with a chuckle. "I'll send a letter tomorrow; my aunt demanded one anyway so I might as well write an extra one I suppose."

He was sucked into a group hug so tight he felt his ribs bend, and by the time they finally set him free he wondered whether they were trying to send him to the hospital wing to stop him from leaving. He shook a few hands as he made his way across the common room, and Professor Sprout wished him good luck before Dumbledore silently ushered him out of the common room. Not a word was spoken as they made their way towards the entrance hall and then out across the grounds, nor even when Dumbledore handed him a case full of potions vials. Harry wondered whether Dumbledore somehow knew what he had said in the common room or whether he simply shared his suspicions about the Durmstrang headmaster.

"Have you ever used a portkey Harry?" Dumbledore asked once they cleared the Hogwarts gates.

"Once."

An expression of curiosity flashed across the headmaster's face before it faded back into it's previous calmness. He held out a metal shield with a crest etched into it's surface, and Harry spent a second looking at the strange double-headed eagle before he reluctantly grabbed onto it.

This portkey was a thousand times worse than the one he had used before. Instead of lasting an instant the yanking from behind his navel seemed to take hours, and when he was finally deposited onto solid ground he struggled to keep a hold of his stomach.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, even his skin a little green, "international portkeys certainly aren't pleasant."

Harry scowled as he pushed himself off the snow-covered ground only to feel himself gasp as soon as he looked up. He'd assumed that he hadn't been able to find any descriptions of Durmstrang because they were so secretive, but now that he saw it he thought that maybe it was just because no could find the right words.

It was huge, so huge that it made Hogwarts look like a playhouse, and made out of a grey stone that was so dark it appeared black. The first rays of sunlight were starting to creep over the mountains behind it, sparkling off the lone windows at the very top of the sharp towers that jutted up from each corner. Harry wondered whether that was where they kept prisoners; maybe he would have to fight a dragon in order to rescue a princess from one of them. Another larger tower shot upwards from the very centre and into the darkening clouds, casting a long, creeping shadow across the grounds, and there were statues of magical beasts snarling from their perches below a large clock that stretched across its face, illuminated from behind by fiery orange light. It reminded Harry far too much of Sauron's eye.

A few of the crows that had been flapping around the tower broke off and glided towards the forest behind him, and Harry had to fight the shudder that crawled across his skin just from looking at it; he doubted anyone would ever go in there willingly. It was dark and foreboding and reeked of decay, a stench that seemed to have infected the lake next to it as well. The ice that covered it was grey and cracked, and even from here Harry could hear it shifting around the bow of a skeletal looking ship that was anchored in the centre, the ice that had crawled the rotting wood giving it an almost otherworldly appearance.

On the other edge of the forest was, strangely, the Hogwarts Express. The train was coiled up rather like a snake despite the fact that there were no tracks anywhere in sight, and Harry could see a few Hogwarts students clutching their cloaks around them as they hurried towards the castle.

"Come on Harry," Dumbledore said. "I should think that the other champions are quite impatient to hear the details of the first task."

"Why did you make them wait for me?" Harry asked, eyeing the silhouettes he could see in the windows.

"I didn't; the Head of International Relations Artyom Sokolov insisted we wait so that all champions are told at the exact same time. Quite a stickler for the rules, that one. Still, it has served him well I suppose."

Harry did his best to ignore the stares and the whispers as Dumbledore led him into the cavernous entrance hall and up the stairs. He didn't understand the language yet, but judging by the sharp look Dumbledore gave a few Durmstrang students what they were saying wasn't very good. He nodded at each of the Hogwarts students he saw regardless of whether they smiled or glared at him. From first appearances it appeared Sirius was going to be right; every Hufflepuff seventh year was going to be watching him like a mother hen, and plenty of the other houses would be too.

Judging by the amount of stairs he was forced to climb up they must have been going somewhere in the main tower, and Harry could feel his legs starting to ache by the time they finally came to a plain wood and iron door that was flanked by a pair of stone bears. Harry swore that he could feel their eyes on him as Dumbledore led the way past, not even bothering to knock.

"Ah Albus, so nice of you to finally join us."

"Good morning Igor," Dumbledore said, ignoring the man's poorly concealed distaste. "Harry, this is Headmaster Karkaroff."

Harry barely resisted the urge to glare at the man that had in all likelihood entered his name into this damn tournament. Karkaroff was almost exactly how he had imagined him; a thin face with a weak chin that wasn't completely covered by a goatee, yellowing teeth and a smile that didn't reach his cold blue eyes. He was dressed in sleek silver furs trimmed with black and was staring at him as a cat would a mouse. Harry wanted nothing more than to show him exactly who the cat was in that scenario.

"Stood next to him is Mr Artyom Sokolov, head of the Russian Ministry's International Relations department," Dumbledore said, gesturing to a severe looking man in what looked to be his late twenties. Harry nodded to him, and Sokolov nodded sharply in return.

"Then there is Mr Gunnar Karlson, head of the department of Magical Sports and Games," Dumbledore continued with a nod towards a grey-haired wizard who waved at him cheerfully.

"Next is Madame Maxine" – Dumbledore gestured towards a olive-skinned woman the size of Hagrid – "and her champion Fleur Delacour. Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang champion" – a broad shouldered boy scowled at him – "and you of course know Cedric."

Harry wasn't sure if he was expected to say anything so he opted to stay silent. Judging by the way Madam Maxine's nostrils flared slightly that wasn't the right thing to do.

"Now that you are all here we are free to give to give you your instructions. As there are now four champions," Sokolov said, glancing at Harry, "there will be four tasks instead of the usual three, the first of which will take place on the 24th of November at 11am. You will be placed in an environment and given a set of instructions, and you must use your own abilities and your surroundings to complete them. You will be armed only with your wands."

"That is all we are being told?" Fleur Delacour asked disbelievingly.

"Well we can hardly tell you any more!" Karlson cried. "If you knew exactly what the task was beforehand that would take all the fun out of it!"

Harry stared at the man. How could _any_ of this be called _fun?_

"The Weighing of the Wands will take place on the morning of the 10th of November in the dining hall," Sokolov continued. "There will be a considerable press presence at this event as well as after each task, so I suggest each of you take this into account."

Judging by the look Sokolov gave Krum, that particular sentence was aimed at him. Krum scowled.

"I have a question?" Harry said. Sokolov looked almost offended.

"Yes?"

"I'm told that I'm subject to a magical contract?"

Sokolov nodded.

"Can I see it?"

Both Sokolov and Karlson looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language, which he supposed to them he was.

"What do you mean?"

"The contract, can I see it? You know, to read?"

Instead of just confusion, the faces of both men now held hints of derision.

"There is nothing to read lad," Karlson said as if he were speaking to a very small child. "The contract is implied."

Harry stared at the man and then at his fellow champions, barely able to comprehend the stupidity of what he'd just been told. All three of them looked unsurprised and even confused by what exactly he was getting at.

"So you're telling me," he said slowly, "that I am, under punishment of death, subject to abide by a contract when I don't even know what it says? And that these three did so willingly?"

All the adults were now looking at him in bewilderment. Even Karkaroff's sneer had been tinted by it.

"Yes. What is so shocking?"

Harry honestly felt like screaming.

"As an example, the contract presumably states that I have to compete yes?" Sokolov nodded slowly. "So, what does that mean? Do I have to try my best? Can I just walk into the arena and then walk straight back out again or would that be classed as throwing the task? Would I get penalised for that?"

Both the Ministry officials were staring at him in shock, their mouths moving in silent words. Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder, presumably to tell him to calm down, but Harry shrugged it off.

"Alright, next example. What is defined as a task? Is the Weighing of the Wands a task? This thing will presumably have a load of press stuff. If I decide I don't feel like getting interrogated by journalists and don't turn up am I going to lose my magic? And then there's the age thing! I haven't been able to get it out of my head since I thought of it! Is the age limit now part of the contract? Because if it is then I'm dead. Pure and simple. If it is part of the contract then I violate it by competing because I'm underage, but I also violate it if I don't compete because that's also required by the bloody contract!"

A shocked silence came over the room as Harry did his best to reign in his panicked temper. It seemed that no one had even thought of that, not judging by the horror he could see playing around their faces. Karkaroff's expression was quite different before he managed to wrench up a concerned façade – he looked scared. A distant part of Harry's mind wondered why exactly that was.

"The age requirement will not be a problem," Sokolov said, though he certainly didn't look very sure. "If it was the goblet would not have accepted your name."

"And the rest?"

"There are performance clauses in quidditch contracts," Krum said, earning a glare from his headmaster which he ignored. "Players must always play to best of their ability. Stops us from forcing more wages or transfers by refusing to play."

Sokolov was glaring at him too now, but Krum just shrugged.

"There's never been a problem before, lad," Karlson assured him. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"There's never been a champion entered against their will either," Harry retorted, not bothering to hide the glare he sent Karkaroff. He sneered in return.

"Calm down, Harry," Dumbledore said in his most grandfatherly voice, "there is already an investigation underway. I'm sure that we will catch the individual that entered your name into the goblet. However, now that you and the other champions have been given your instructions, I think it time you get to know your surroundings. Cedric, would you mind showing Harry here to our accommodations?"

Cedric jolted slightly as the shocked concern melted from his face.

"Of course sir. Come on Harry. I'll show you your room then we'll show you around the castle; we don't want you getting lost."

Cedric led the way out of the office and down the steps, shooting him glances all the while.

"You want to ask something, Cedric?"

"Not ask, no," Cedric said hurriedly, "just… what you said in there. About the contract. I'd have never thought of it like that. Plenty of magical contracts are implied; I just assumed there was nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, well, that was all I thought about last night. Thinking about all the tasks that people have got killed doing in the past, then I decided that all I was going to was walk in, cast a few pointless spells and then walk straight back out. Or at least I did until I remembered my cousin telling me about some boxer than threw a fight and got in a lot of trouble. I figure if it's a rule in boxing it might be a rule here, but obviously I can't check it so I can't risk it."

"So you're going to have to try as hard as the rest of us."

"Yep," Harry said, scowling. "I could go into a task, realise that I have no way of doing it that doesn't have a high chance of killing me, and then I'd have to do it anyway."

Cedric cursed, and Harry noticed a flash of resolution settle in his eyes.

"Right, screw the rest of the castle. I'll show you your room then I'm showing you to the champions' corridor."

"The what?"

"It's this corridor down in the dungeons that's warded to only allow the champions in. We each get a room that we can use to prepare. I assume there will be one for you by now, but if not you can share mine until they put yours in. Shouldn't take more than a day."

Cedric shrugged, and Harry decided that he would never quite understand how people raised in the magical world thought so little of things that would be considerable problems in the muggle world. It would take a muggle construction company weeks or even months to put in an extra, presumably large room in a pre-existing corridor of an extremely old castle. Just drawing up the plans and making sure it wouldn't cause any damage would take weeks.

They had reached the entrance hall by then, and Harry again ignored the stares as he followed Cedric outside. He was forced to bow his head against the icy wind that battered him as soon as he stepped outside, and his hurriedly cast warming charm hardly seemed to take the edge off of the cold. When they finally stumbled into the Hogwarts Express they each let out an audible sigh in relief.

"All the compartments have been converted into rooms," Cedric explained as he led the way down the curving aisle of the train, "and everyone gets their own room. This one here's mine, and those four are my friends'. We got to pick, you see, but obviously as you weren't supposed to be here you'll be at the very end where all the unconverted compartments are that we use as common areas. I assume Dumbledore's converted it by now."

Cedric gave him an apologetic look and Harry shrugged in response. He wasn't really that bothered where his room was.

It didn't take long for them to come to the door at the very end, a golden plaque at it's centre with _H. Potter_ engraved in a looping font. After that everything looked just like it normally did, with cushioned benches visible through glass doors as opposed to the solid wood ones that the converted bedrooms had.

"Alright, I'll leave you to look around your room, put your stuff away and whatnot. Lunch is in a little under an hour, so I'll come and get you for that."

Harry was ready to protest that he really didn't need a babysitter, but one look at Cedric's face told him that doing so would be pointless. Cedric nodded to himself before he walked back down the corridor.

The compartment must have been expanded to three or four times its normal size to make what was more or less a single version of his dormitory at Hogwarts; there was a four-poster bed with yellow hangings at the centre, a large wardrobe pushed up against the right-hand wall, and a door on the other wall that led into a small bathroom complete with a shower. It was comfortable, but it certainly wasn't extravagant.

A flick of his wand enlarged his trunk it its usual size and then another flick sent his clothes flying into the wardrobe. He spent the rest of the time until Cedric arrived eating the slightly squished chocolate frogs or broken sugar quills that had been scattered throughout his trunk.

There was a knock at his door and, surprisingly, when he opened his door there were four people instead of just one.

"Alright Harry?" Jefferies, a Hufflepuff in Cedric's year, asked.

Harry shook the outstretched hand in surprise, noticing that Cedric was smiling at him in encouragement. He was a little offended Cedric thought that he needed to be encouraged just to talk to someone. He wasn't a little kid.

"Hey Jefferies."

"Call me Jim. I've got a feeling we'll be seeing plenty of each other this year. How're you feeling?" he asked, his usual cheerfulness tinged with concern. "When your name came out the entire hall burst into uproar! We were all shocked!"

Harry smiled humourlessly.

"Not as shocked as I was, trust me."

"Nah, probably not. Still, I don't think I've ever seen Dumbledore shocked before. He always seems to know exactly what's going on, you know?"

"At Hogwarts I'm pretty sure he does," said a petite girl with sleek brown hair. "The twins have tried to prank him at least a dozen times and never managed to get him."

"And _that_ is why I thank God everyday that I'm not in Gryffindor," Jim said emphatically. "I honestly don't think I could put up with them."

"They're not so bad," the girl defended, though she didn't seem to believe it herself. "Only Angie and Alicia are brave enough to actually date them though."

She seemed to suddenly remember Harry was there then, to the amusement of the others present.

"I'm Emily by the way," she said, an embarrassed blush creeping up her cheeks. "Sorry. I probably should have started with that."

"And I'm Steve," a tall, skinny blonde wizard said, not bothering to hide his smile at Emily's embarrassment. "Doubt you know me. We Ravenclaws don't tend to mix much unfortunately. Anyway, Cedric tells me you like runes?"

"Oh Christ," Cedric muttered, "here we go. Steve is a bit obsessed with runes, Harry. I think he drove Professor Babbling mad with all the questions he asked."

"Hey!"

"Am I wrong?"

Steve scowled at him as the group turned and walked down the corridor with Harry following on behind.

Suddenly Jim let out a dramatic gasp, his head spinning this way and that with an expression of utter shock plastered across his face.

"But Cedric, where's darling India?"

"She's in the library," Cedric answered, and Harry could hear the sigh of exasperation in his voice. "She said she'll meet us there."

"Really?" Steve said with equal drama, his face dripping with exaggerated shock. "Well in that case it appears a miracle has occurred! I've been terribly worried this last week or so, you see. I'd feared the two of you had been cursed! After all, the two of you have been joined at the lips the whole time, and as there's no sane reason she would ever subject herself to that for so long I feared the worst!"

By the look on Cedric's face this was a familiar line of teasing. Emily looked incredibly amused.

"Jim, Steve, could you two do me a favour?" Cedric asked.

"Sure we can Ced."

"Fantastic. Now, shut up."

"Yes sir."

Harry grinned at the exasperated look on Cedric's face. A part of him wondered if they were like this all the time.

The Durmstrang dining hall was a great cavernous room of grey stone wide so large that Harry was in awe at the sheer size of it. It must have been big enough to fit a passenger jet with space to spare! It reminded Harry of an old gothic cathedral, with stone pillars set into the walls that stretched like ribs all the way up and then across the curved stone ceiling. Arches were chiselled around doors and there were huge stained glass windows that appeared to depict rather brutal duels but, other than that, it was much the same as the Great Hall at Hogwarts; a raised table at the front where professors sat, and then long tables for the students below. There were a lot more professors, though, and a lot more students too; instead of four student tables Harry counted ten.

Steve led them towards an empty patch at one of the more central tables. Harry would have preferred to sit with his back to the wall, but he wasn't willing to go and sit by himself either.

"Are there any houses here?" he asked as they sat down.

There didn't seem to be any obvious differences between tables, at least not that he could see. Surprisingly, there were little groups from each school at every one of them. Harry would have assumed that all the Beauxbatons students would have sat together at one table, and the same with the Hogwarts students.

"No. Beauxbatons don't either apparently, so I figure that maybe it's just a British thing." Cedric shrugged. "Probably a good thing honestly. It's not a good idea to create rivalries at a school where you're teaching the Dark Arts."

"Have you had a Dark Arts lesson yet?" Harry asked, making sure to hide his enthusiasm.

Emily shivered.

"Yeah, and it was awful. We're obviously attending the sixth year classes, and by the time Durmstrang students reach sixth year they're as well versed in the Dark Arts as British dark wizards. They were being taught this curse that makes the flesh of the victim die. Necrosis, the professor called it. It was under the guise of being able to properly practise the countercurse, but really the point was to learn the curse itself. I couldn't even bring myself to try and cast it. The… Bothrips curse or something."

Harry resisted the urge to correct her on the name. The Bothrops curse was based on the bite of a snake found in Central and South America whose venom causes tissue necrosis – according to the book he'd learnt it from the bite could effectively rot someone's limb away if left untreated. The curse took the effect of the bite, magnified it, and then made it spread across the body in a matter of hours while also being incredibly difficult counter by anyone other than the caster. It was one of the ones he'd learnt to use on Sirius when he had thought that he betrayed his parents.

"You not going to eat anything Harry?" Cedric asked, pulling him out of his wonderings about just how many curses were waiting for him in the Durmstrang library.

Harry shook his head.

"I haven't learned the diagnostic charms yet."

The four of them gave him a strange look.

"Why would you need to learn diagnostic charms to eat?"

"Because Karkaroff's a death eater."

"He's a _what?_" they cried in unison, shocked. "That can't be right. They would never let a death eater be the headmaster of a school."

"They let Snape become Head of Slytherin," he pointed out.

"Wait, _Snape_ is a death eater too? You're sure? I mean, I know he's a bastard but…"

"Yep, Dumbledore kept him out of Azkaban by claiming that Snape had turned spy near the end of the war."

Steve snorted from beside him. "Maybe I'd believe that if he wasn't such a dick."

"And Karkaroff?" Cedric asked.

"Ratted out as many other death eaters as he could to buy his freedom. And now, my name just happens to come out of the Goblet of Fire, therefore dragging me into his reach. He probably did it because-"

He cut himself off, realising that would take him into things he didn't particularly want to tell them.

"Because…?" Cedric asked.

"Nothing."

They frowned at him, clearly curious. Emily looked about to push for an answer before an ashen haired girl appeared and squeezed herself onto the bench between her and Cedric. Cedric looked incredibly pleased by the situation.

"Hi guys," she said happily, "and hello Harry. I can call you Harry can't I?" Harry nodded, a bit unbalanced by her cheerfulness. "I'm India. It's lovely to meet you."

Harry shook her hand in mild bemusement. A Durmstrang a little way down the table muttered something, and India's previously radiant expression twisted into a glare.

"I'm guessing whatever she said wasn't very nice," Harry said dryly.

"Oh shit, that's right!" Cedric said after a few seconds. "You didn't get any language lessons. How the hell are you going to understand what the professors are saying?"

"I won't, I guess. Looks like I'll be teaching myself for the foreseeable future. Not a problem; I do that a lot of the time anyway."

"I can teach you the language if you want?" India offered.

"No, it's fine. I'll probably get assigned a teacher later anyway. I doubt Dumbledore overlooked the fact that I can't speak Russian."

"And besides," Jim piped up, smirking, "I doubt Harry wants to interrupt you and Cedric's _private time_."

Both India and Cedric blushed furiously, while Steve and Emily both burst into laughter.

"So," India said quickly, her face still red, "what did they tell you about the first task?"

Cedric groaned.

"Practically nothing. Apparently, we're going to be placed in an environment with nothing but our wands and a set of instructions, and then we have to use our environment and our own abilities to complete said instructions."

"That's it?" India asked incredulously. "Did they even tell you what sort of instructions you're going to be given?"

"Nope. That would take away the fun, apparently."

"Hopefully we'll be able to figure something out by looking at what the first tasks have been in all the past tournaments," Steve said thoughtfully. "These things are always steeped in tradition."

"That's what I've just been doing," India said as if it should have been obvious. "Traditionally the first task is focussed on a beast of some sort, so the instructions you're given could be 'go and fight that chimera', or maybe they're trying something different for the revival of the tournament."

"So basically we won't know until they tell us," Cedric said.

India nodded, giving him a worried look. Harry would have thought that Jim at the very least would have cracked a joke when Cedric pressed a soft kiss on the top of her head, but instead he and all the others looked just as worried.

"I'll be fine," he said, and Harry didn't miss the way that several sets of concerned eyes flicked in his direction. "We both will. Anyway, me and Harry have to dash. I've still got to show him a few things."

There was a chorus of goodbyes as they clambered back over the benches, and Harry waved over his shoulder with only slight awkwardness as Cedric led the way out of the hall.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"They seem really nice," Harry said, "but are they always that…"

"Loud?"

"I was going to say hyper, but yeah."

Cedric laughed.

"Not always, but it's not rare either. I mean, you know Jim, or at least know of him."

Harry nodded – it was nigh on impossible not to have noticed him in the common room over the years.

"Steve is like that too, even if he likes to study a lot more than Jim does. I know they're loud and a bit overwhelming at times, so don't feel bad if you need to go off by yourself for a bit. I know you do it from time to time back at Hogwarts; I think just about everyone's heard Susan worrying about where exactly you are. I reckon you and Emily will get on splendidly though. She's a lot like you I think."

"And what's that?" he asked, ignoring the blatant suggestion in Cedric's voice.

"Pretty reserved up to a point, but after that she's quite… feisty. Up until the first time I saw her lose her temper I couldn't believe she was in Gryffindor."

"I honestly don't know whether to be insulted or not by the fact you consider me feisty."

Cedric made a face and, wisely in Harry's opinion, kept his mouth shut. Cedric had yet to see him _feisty_.

Eventually they came to a long corridor, far out of the way of everything else, with two doors set into each of the walls. Three of them had gleaming bronze shields stuck to their centre – one with the Hogwarts school crest, another with the Durmstrang crest, and the third with what Harry assumed was the school crest of Beauxbatons. The fourth and final door was blank.

"Looks like they've put your room in already. As I'm sure you can tell that one is mine," he said, pointing to the door emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest that was directly opposite the blank one, "that one is Fleur's, and that one is Viktor's.

"Like I said earlier, this corridor is warded only to be accessible to the champions. Technically the rules state that we're not allowed any help from either friends or teachers, but everyone pretty much accepts that that rule is ignored. Certainly Karkaroff and Madame Maxine will be ignoring it, but knowing what I do of Dumbledore I doubt we'll be getting much help from him."

They heard footsteps echoing at the other end of the corridor, and Harry turned to see Fleur and Viktor walking side by side, chatting quite happily. He was a little caught off guard by that; he was under the impression that competitors in important competitions tended not to be on friendly terms. At least that's what he had assumed from Dudley's rants on how everyone in his boxing competitions were, in some shape or form, despicable bastards.

Cedric glanced at them and then back at Harry.

"You go look around your room; you'll be spending a lot of time in there so you might as well get accustomed to it. I've got to have a quick chat with Fleur and Viktor for a second."

He jogged down the corridor towards the other champions who looked momentarily surprised at his appearance before they started talking quietly between themselves. Harry spent a second wondering what they were talking about before he shrugged and pushed his door open, a smile spreading across his face as he stepped inside.

'This will do nicely,' he thought.

Against one wall were three duelling dummies much like the ones he had at home, and even if he would have preferred a few more three would be good enough to prepare for the tournament. He supposed that this meant there would be duelling in one of the tasks, a fact that sent a small flash of glee burning through his fingers even despite the fact that he'd been hoping to keep his prowess in that particular area secret. That part of the room was covered in wards and charms to prevent spell damage and injury, more or less splitting the room in two.

The other side had a large desk and matching bookcase, and the wall beside it was dominated by a blackboard that stretched higher than he would be able to reach. There were a pair of doors nestled in the back corner, and he was pleased to find a well-equipped bathroom and an even more well-equipped potions lab. As soon as he saw the cupboards full of ingredients he decided he would have to revise as much potions as he could; his wandwork should be good enough as it was – hopefully – but his potions… well, the less said about that the better.

All in all, he was pleasantly surprised by his new training area. He hadn't even thought he'd get one and had been privately mourning the loss of the Come and Go room. This was no Come and Go room, obviously, but it certainly wasn't bad. He was almost tempted to put a bed in and just stay here.

He made his way back towards the door, intent on finding out where the library was, when a knock echoed through the room.

"How'd you like it, Harry?" Cedric asked as he wandered in, nodding to himself. "It's just like mine."

"It's nice," he shrugged. "I'd have preferred a couple more dummies though."

Cedric gave him an odd look.

"Why would you need more?"

Harry shrugged. Answering would involve admitting that he had been preparing to fight death eaters, and that would then lead dangerously close to telling him Voldemort was still alive.

"Right, anyway," Cedric said awkwardly, "I had an idea earlier, when you said about having to attempt a task even if you can't think of a way that won't get you killed. I think it's ridiculous you're having to compete at all, frankly. I mean, how the hell can someone else put your name in and yet you're still forced to compete? So, I want to help you out. I asked Fleur and Viktor if they wanted to join but they said they're going to be swamped enough as it is."

Harry looked at him dubiously.

"Help me? In what way?"

"You're just a fourth year," he said, "a really good fourth year I admit, but you won't be able to do the things that will be required by the tournament. I'll teach you how, and if I come across any clues to make things easier I'll tell you."

"Right, er, thanks," Harry said slowly, "but it's really not necessary."

"Look Harry," Cedric said earnestly, "don't let the fact that you're top of year blind you. And don't feel guilty because it takes up a bit of my time. In teaching it to you I'm practising it as well."

"It's not that, I just really don't need any help. Well," he admitted, "maybe herbology and definitely potions, but I can hardly be expected to learn anything from Snape can I?"

"Harry, please don't be so stubborn," Cedric tried. "I promise it's not a burden. We Hufflepuffs are supposed to be the helpful ones."

Harry sighed, knowing that he had little chance of getting out of it.

"Fine, you can help me out if you feel so inclined. But I want to assure you that I don't need anywhere near as much help as you think I do."

"It is okay to admit you need help, Harry," Cedric said, as if he were imparting a great life lesson on a small child.

Harry felt his eye twitch in annoyance, and then he let another near inaudible sigh. This one, however, was aimed at himself. Damn his ego.

He flicked his wand into his hand and paused for a second, an expression of concentration washing over his face before he flicked it at the space to his left. A leopard appeared out of thin air, and he flicked his wand again to send it prowling around the room.

"Fucking hell Harry!" Cedric yelled, and Harry didn't bother to fight a smile at his language. The great Cedric Diggory cursing? Susan was going to be heartbroken.

For several seconds Cedric's wide-eyed gaze flitted between Harry and the leopard that was circling him, and all the while Harry had to fight against the smug grin that was threatening to spill onto his face.

He frowned slightly as he ran his hand over the fur of it's back. It was too stiff; he was far too used to conjuring stone. The proportions of it were slightly out too – its tail was a bit too long and it's eyes a bit too large – but still, it was recognisably a leopard. His animation charm was good too; he was quite pleased with the fluidity of his creation's movements. He supposed he should probably practise conjuring things that weren't stone a little more.

"How long have you been able to conjure stuff?" Cedric asked finally as he pushed the leopard in the side with his foot and nodded in equal parts approval and amazement when it stumbled to stay up right.

"Stuff like that or just stuff?"

"Just stuff."

"Since… I don't know, the end of second year I'd say. I couldn't do it easily until a while into my third year though. It took a lot of practise"

Cedric goggled at him.

"Why so early?"

"It blocks curses."

Cedric gave him a look of sad understanding; he remembered what had happened in his second year, then.

"Well either way I'm going to help you with herbology," he said, "and you can't say no because you already admitted you need help with it."

"I seem to remember you loudly saying last year that herbology was the worst subject at Hogwarts, and saying it right when Professor Sprout walked in."

Cedric blushed slightly. That had been embarrassing.

"OWL stress, Harry, OWL stress. Just you wait."


	16. Chapter 16

"Harry!" Cedric shouted through the door, "hurry up and get out here! The Weighing of the Wands is supposed to start in two minutes!"

Harry withheld a groan as he pushed himself from his chair and yanked the robe from the back of it. What was the point in this stupid ceremony? Surely it should be obvious to see that his wand worked considering he could cast spells with it? And, to make it even worse, there would be reporters there. Lots of them. With an unexpected fourth champion who also happened to be Harry Potter they were going to be like vultures.

"Finally," Cedric said when he finally emerged from his training room, "took your sweet time didn't you?"

"I thought you had a lesson," Harry grumbled as Cedric hurried him down the corridor.

"I did, but I also knew that you would lose track of time."

Harry hadn't lost track of time at all, of course. He had simply hoped to put his suffering off as long as possible.

"What book did you have your nose in this time?" Cedric asked over his shoulder, somewhere between amused and exasperated by Harry's slow pace.

"Potions."

Cedric laughed at his scowl as they made their way up the steps from the dungeons.

"Look on the bright side, Harry. Potions is the one thing none of the champions are good at. At least we have an excuse: we get taught by Snape. Even the grouchy old professor here is better than him."

"Yeah, but you're all still at NEWT standard. You should have seen my attempt at a strengthening solution last night."

"I could always ask Jim to teach you," Cedric laughed. "He's the best at potions out of the five of us."

Harry snorted at the thought. There was no way Jim could ever teach someone anything, not without going on a million different tangents that had no relevance to what he was actually trying to say.

He was actually quite looking forward to finally being able to attend lessons. In fact, he'd be looking forward to it even if the lessons themselves were nigh on unbearable if for no other reason than escaping the tyrant who had been assigned to teach him Russian. He saw him every day for two hours. Or, at least, that was how long he was supposed to see him for. If he hadn't advanced enough by the end of that two hours he would be forced to carry on until he had. Admittedly his grasp of the Russian language had improved massively over the past week or so, especially thanks to the potions he had been taking, but that didn't mean that he didn't also hate having to learn it. Frankly, he'd pick torture over Mr Zelinsky.

Thankfully, by all accounts the classes here were quite good. Cedric didn't really have much idea what was taught in the fourth year classes but he assured him that the professors he had been taught by knew their stuff. They surely couldn't be any worse than Binns or Snape at the very least. For now, though, he was confined to teaching himself out of books. Doing so wasn't a problem given the translation charms that had been laid over every book in the Durmstrang library, but a book couldn't critique him.

It was something he had discovered when Cedric insisted on teaching him things, no matter how much he said that he didn't need him to. He was quite capable of doing most of the things he would need to do, he had assured him, but Cedric just ignored him and did it anyway. As it turned out, though, Cedric had a point.

He had discovered that he had been doing some of the things he had learnt last year and even before slightly wrong, despite the fact that he'd been doing them quite happily. Once Cedric had pointed out whatever small flaw he had picked up – whether it was that a flick in his wand movements was too short, or that he was concentrating on the wrong aspect in a charm – they suddenly became easier. He still had to put the effort in to replace his ingrained method with the correct one, but really that wasn't so bad. Especially considering that if Cedric caught him doing it his old way he would scold him for it.

It also quickly became clear that… well, he wasn't quite as good as he thought he was. His focus on learning to fight had meant he'd neglected other areas. Reflexive conjuration, shields, battle transfiguration and animation charms were all areas that he, frankly, had Cedric and probably the other champions beat. When it came to curses and outright fighting he was willing to bet he had most of the professors beat too. But things like healing charms, navigational spells, purely spell-based wardbreaking and human transfiguration? He wasn't far ahead of the average fourth year student, even behind them in some things. He'd never even heard of half the spells Cedric mentioned. It was extremely irritating, going from thinking that the rest of his year were miles behind him to knowing that he wasn't that much better than they were in the space of a week.

Both Susan and Neville found his sudden interest in learning all the things he'd previously said were pointless endlessly amusing.

As the murmuring of voices emanating from the dining hall became louder and louder he slowed his steps and mentally prepared himself for the interrogation he would more than likely receive. The murmuring stopped as soon as he and Cedric stepped into the hall and Harry had to resist the urge to sneer at Sokolov when he glared at them. They were a minute late at most!

The long table normally used by the professors had been replaced by a raised dais on which sat a plain wooden table with a purple cloth draped over it. To the right of the table sat the headmasters of the three schools and the two Ministry representatives, and on the left were four chairs for the champions. Fleur and Viktor were already there and suffering under the gazes of the gathered reporters, Viktor with stoic disinterest and Fleur with an air of haughtiness that didn't quite manage to hide just how uncomfortable she was.

The reporters and cameramen were seated in rows facing the front, although they had all twisted in their chairs as soon as he and Cedric entered. Harry did his best to ignore the flashes of a dozen cameras and the cacophony of raised voices until a bang from Sokolov's wand quickly halted the questions that were being yelled at him. If this was what it was like now he shuddered to think of what it would be like after each of the tasks; they hadn't even done anything yet!

"There will be no questions until _after_ all the champions' wands have been weighed," Sokolov said severely once Harry and Cedric had taken their seats, and only once he was sure it had sunken in did he continue.

"I'd like to introduce our wand expert, Mr Mykew Gregorovitch."

Harry's eyes flitted to the man who now stood behind the table. He was old but not nearly as old as Ollivander was, with stringy white hair and a thick bushy beard, and where Ollivander exuded mysticism Gregorovitch just looked like he'd rather be just about anywhere else.

"You, up you come," Gregorovitch grumbled, inclining his head ever so slightly towards Fleur.

Fleur rose gracefully from her chair and reluctantly handed Gregorovitch her wand, who grasped it lightly between his fingers for a few moments before he started to peer at it more closely.

"Made by Claude Dorian, correct?" he asked. Fleur nodded in surprise. "A good wandmaker. Shame he only does custom work. Rosewood, nine and a half inches… very inflexible with a… veela hair at its core?"

"From my grandmother," Fleur said fondly.

"Good. Veela hair is far too volatile without some sort of emotional connection to the source. I hope you're never in a scenario where someone else is forced to use your wand," he said grimly as he handed it back to her. "Please cast a lumos charm."

She did so, and after staring at both the wand and the spell for several seconds Gregorovitch nodded his head.

"It's in good working order. Next."

Krum stood and stalked across the stage. He flicked his wand from a holster on his wrist and handed it to Gregorovitch with jarring delicacy.

"One of mine, I see. I remember this one; ten and a quarter inches of hornbeam with the heartstring of a Hungarian Horntail at its core. A powerful wand – had to make it a little thicker than usual to make sure it could contain it."

A burst of flame erupted from the wand, startling the reporters in the front row before Gregorovitch handed it back. Harry was sure he saw a grin appear on the old wandmaker's face for a split-second.

"A little more polish wouldn't go amiss, but it's perfectly useable. Next."

Krum glared at the man as he returned to his seat. Amusement flashed in Gregorovitch's eyes, but by the time Cedric handed over his wand he looked as grumpy as ever.

"One of Ollivander's, unsurprisingly. A top quality wandmaker to be sure, but he does make them unnecessarily showy," he muttered as he held the wand up to his eyes and peered at it. "Ash, twelve and a quarter inches, with a unicorn hair at its core. Extremely well polished."

Cedric blushed as Gregorovitch flicked the wand in a sharp vertical motion to form a shimmering shield of silver light.

"It's in good condition. And that leaves just you, Mr Potter."

Harry stood, ignoring the sudden uptick in murmuring and the way that some reporters had their quills poised bare millimetres from their parchment, and reluctantly handed over his wand.

Gregorovitch's lips twisted into a thoughtful frown the moment he plucked the wand from Harry's fingers, his eyes seeming to take on an unnatural glow.

"The maker of this wand escapes me. A masterful wandcrafter, that I can tell, but not one I have seen before. Twelve-and three-quarter inches of cedar, but the core… I have never felt the like. Rare."

He closed his eyes then and spent several long moments utterly still, the wand still grasped between his fingertips, and when they opened again his eyes were gleaming.

"Chimera," he breathed. "Unbelievable. Three different animals in a single creature… my father told me it would be impossible to use a piece from such a creature as a wand core. Who made this wand from, Mr Potter?"

"I don't know. I got it from my vault; it was my grandfather's."

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw a look of shock appear on Dumbledore's face as the scribbling of quills became even louder. Gregorovitch looked disappointed.

"Cast a lumos charm please, Mr Potter," Gregorovitch said as he handed his wand back, "just as Miss Delacour did."

Unlike he had for Fleur, Gregorovitch withdrew his own wand and started waving it over his wand, muttering all the while in a strange tongue. A deep blue, almost purple cord of light appeared above his wand, and then Gregorovitch repeated the spell over his forearm. Another cord of light appeared, near identical in colour.

"A perfect match," Gregorovitch declared. "Or at least the closest thing to a perfect match you can get without a custom-made wand. You and your grandfather must be very similar, Mr Potter."

Harry nodded before he returned to his seat. Sirius had said the same thing more than once, but he didn't know nearly enough about his grandfather to know if that was true. According to Sirius he had been a very private person, and he honestly couldn't compare himself to his grandfather purely on the sort of father Sirius said he had been.

"All the champions' wands are in fine working order," Gregorovitch said, "so if there is nothing else I would like to return to my shop. I have a sudden urge to experiment."

"Of course, Mr Gregorovitch," Karkaroff said, his yellow teeth bared in a cold smile.

Harry barely resisted the urge to glare at the man like he inevitably ended up doing at every meal. There were far too many photographers here for that.

"And now we will have a brief interview session," Sokolov said. The reporters looked ravenous as their eyes turned as one to Harry.

"However," Dumbledore piped up, "as this hall will be required shortly for lunch we will be limiting each champion to three questions. Just so that we don't overrun."

Dumbledore seemed to be utterly affected by the glares that were sent his way, not just from the reporters but from Sokolov, Karlson and Karkaroff as well. Harry seriously doubted any such limitations had been agreed.

"You first, Miss…?"

"Sadie Tucker, Mr Sokolov. From the_ Daily Prophet._"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. If this reporter was here then presumably they hadn't sent the infamous Rita Skeeter as well; he'd read a few of her articles about him back in second year and found them to be completely false and filled with quotes from anonymous students. Personally, he couldn't decide whether she'd spoken to Malfoy or just made them all up.

"My question is for Mr Potter," she began, glancing down at her notebook. "As a wizard who has just barely started his fourth year, how nervous are you for this tournament given that it has been designed for witches and wizards with three years more magical training? Does it scare you that superior wizards have died in tournaments past?"

A part of him rankled at his implied inferiority, but really he couldn't fault her for accuracy. Better wizards _had_ died.

"Honestly, a part of me is really quite nervous. Why wouldn't I be? As you said, it was designed for people three years more experienced than I am. But, with a little luck, I think I'll be more than capable of dealing with whatever they throw at me."

He noticed a few dubious looks in the crowd as the reporter retook her seat. It was clear that more than a few thought his fame had gone to his head. By the looks on their faces, Fleur and Viktor both agreed.

Sokolov pointed to a dark-skinned man in the second row.

"Mr Potter," he said in a rumbling, heavily accented voice, his white teeth gleaming, "how do you think your name came out of the Goblet of Fire?"

"I'm told that it was confunded, but as to the perpetrator I have no idea. I'm sure Headmaster Karkaroff is doing his utmost to figure that out."

By the gleeful look on the man's face he hadn't managed to keep the sarcasm from his voice, not that he'd tried particularly hard to. Harry chanced a look over towards the judges. Dumbledore was looking at him in disapproval, as were the two men from the Ministry, but it was more than worth it to see the brittle smile on Karkaroff's face.

"If we could have questions for the other champions from now on?" Sokolov asked briskly. "We are running out of time."

Harry thought it more to do with avoiding an international incident, but he certainly wasn't going to object if it meant he didn't have to answer any more questions. There was audible grumbling from the reporters, but nonetheless they complied.

They asked Krum how the tournament would affect his quidditch – apparently he had just signed with a big team in Germany – and they asked Fleur if she thought her veela heritage would give her an edge given that all three of her competitors were male. Harry didn't actually know what a veela was, but he endeavoured to find out if the reporters thought it could be used against him.

Harry quite enjoyed getting to sit back and watch Cedric squirm through a question from _Witch Weekly_ about his relationship status. Although, the other two questions that Cedric was asked weren't about Cedric at all. It took one reporter from Germany asking "have you seen anything over your time at Hogwarts to suggest Mr Potter will be able to complete the tasks without, at the very least, serious injury" for the organisers to finally call it a day.

That wasn't the end of their torture, however. They then had to pose for a series of photographs, and by the time the reporters were politely told to get moving Harry wondered whether he'd ever be able to get rid of the spots in his vision.

Tables came sweeping in from the walls with a flick of Karkaroff's wand before he stalked out, completely ignoring the crowd of people that were now filtering into the hall. Harry still thought it strange that Karkaroff was so utterly removed from the school that he was headmaster of; he had yet to see the man speak to any of his students or even to his staff members. Personally he put it down to the fact that Karkaroff was a snivelling little man who had come to Durmstrang purely as a place to hide from all the death eaters he betrayed, but then that was just him.

"If that's them now they're going to be bloody insufferable after the actual tasks," Cedric grumbled. "Especially for you."

"Maybe we can just cast silencing charms over ourselves. We can't answer their questions if we can't hear them."

"Not a bad idea, especially as it would really piss those reporters off to be ignored by their favourite champion. Saying that, if they ask me about you next time I might just start hexing them. No offense."

Harry snorted.

"None taken."

The two of them took their seats at what had become their usual table, chatting lightly as they waited for the rest of the group to arrive. Cedric was quite curious about his wand; he had read a few books on wandlore over the past few days to try and work out what their wands said about them as champions, but he hadn't found anything about chimera. It must be a very rare core, and Cedric too had noticed the look on Dumbledore's face when he said it had once belonged to his grandfather.

Harry wasn't sure why Dumbledore looked so shocked. He knew some about what his grandfather was like at home and as a father – Sirius said he was one of the most caring men he had ever met – but beyond that he didn't really know a lot. Sirius knew very little about either of his grandparents' time at Hogwarts, and his grandfather had always refused point blank to talk about his involvement in the war against Grindelwald.

It didn't take long for Steve, India, Jim, and Emily to wander in, who all seemed even more put out than Cedric was that his questions hadn't even been about him.

"It's not a big deal, guys. He's Harry Potter; of course all the reporters are going to be obsessed with him."

"Then why didn't they just ask Harry more questions?" Emily asked.

Cedric snorted.

"Because Sokolov forbid them from asking Harry any more questions after he heavily implied that Karkaroff put his name in the goblet."

All eyes turned to him with varying degrees of disapproval or, in the case of Emily and Jim, respect.

"Actually I said that I was sure he's doing everything he can to catch the person who did it."

"Harry," Cedric sighed, "even a deaf man could have heard the sarcasm in your voice."

"Shame."

Cedric scowled at him before conversation turned to the charms lesson Cedric had missed and then to the other lessons they had had that day, their homework assignments and Cedric's preparations for the first task. Harry was content to sit and listen while making the occasional comment. Jim and India both tried to bring him more into the conversation, but a brief look from Cedric made them stop.

Harry gave him a thankful nod. Some people just didn't seem to understand that some people didn't like talking all that much. Cedric hadn't really seemed to understand it either at first, but after spending so many hours in his company he had slowly worked it out.

It surprised him just how comfortable he had got with Cedric in the space of ten days. It helped that despite his poorly concealed worry – Harry would almost call it motherly, to Cedric's great horror – Cedric didn't try and keep him in his sight at all times or to monitor exactly which books he was taking from the library. It was nice to have someone older to talk to who didn't mind talking to a younger kid as well. Being able to just ask a question rather than rifling through a book was quite nice. It wasn't like being with Susan and Neville, obviously, but it wasn't a million miles away either.

The same could not be said for Cedric's friends. He liked them all, really he did, but they were always together and always quite loud. It was difficult to get a word in, and at times he wasn't sure he really wanted to. He felt like an outsider when they were all together which, while expected, was far from a pleasant feeling. He'd started writing even more letters back to Susan and Neville to try and get rid of it.

He'd only really spent mealtimes with them in fairness. Maybe it would get better over the course of the year. If not he had a feeling he might become quite lonely.

**~Scene Change~**

Harry frowned as he entered the dining hall for breakfast the next morning. Every pair of eyes had turned to him, and while he had been the subject of glares and mocking looks since he arrived this was quite different. He noticed the newspapers strewn across the tables and put it down to the reporters taking some creative licence with his words. They had probably claimed that he'd directly accused Karkaroff of putting his name in the Goblet of Fire.

"Morning," he said as he slid into his seat.

It wasn't until he started loading food onto his plate that he noticed no one had said a word to him, and when he looked up at them they were all regarding him with various degrees of shock.

"What?"

Emily slid a newspaper to him across the table.

"Oh come on, you know that whatever those reporters are saying is made up. Cedric was there so I'm sure he can tell you that I didn't say whatever they're saying I did."

"Just read it, Harry."

Harry scowled as he spun the paper around to face him, fully expecting some sensationalist title. _The-Boy-Who-Cheated_ or some such rubbish. What he wasn't expecting to see plastered across the front page, however, was _Potter vs Grindelwald_.

His plate of food forgotten, Harry peered down at the photo that took up half the front page. It was the same as the one that was currently sat on his bedside table of his grandfather's unit during the war.

_Yesterday, this reporter was present at the Durmstrang Institute for the Weighing of the Wands in preparation for this year's historic revival of the legendary Triwizard Tournament. However, as I'm sure all of you reading this are aware, this year there was a surprise fourth champion: Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived._

_No one knows how exactly Harry Potter's name came out of the Goblet of Fire when he was half a continent away, though he seemed to think Durmstrang Headmaster Igor Karkaroff to be involved. This is hardly a surprising opinion considering that Igor Karkaroff was a Death Eater during the British Wizarding Civil War, a war which came to abrupt end when Karkaroff's master was killed while attempting to murder an infant Harry Potter._

_Normally it would be this that was printed on the front page of every newspaper in the magical world. I'm sure it will be in many. Such a prominent figure accusing the head of the hosting school of conspiring against him would be a huge topic of debate and an even larger topic of scrutiny. However, I focussed on something I found far more interesting that occurred at the wand weighing ceremony._

_Harry Potter's wand was shown to have had a previous master._

_A brief fascination with wandlore in my youth told me that using a wand with a previous master is incredibly uncommon. Many wands remain loyal to their wielder even after the wielder's death, and that likelihood becomes even more so depending on the components of the wand. And the components of his wand are surprising enough. Cedar and chimera heartstring, a combination that had never been seen before an unknown yet undoubtedly skilled wandmaker created this wand._

_According to Garrick Ollivander's book on wandlore, owners of cedar wands have "strength of character and unusual loyalty" and are more often than not a "frightening adversary". A chimera heartstring core, however, is so rare that no books on wandlore even mention it. The experts I contacted hypothesised the owner of such a wand would have vastly different sides to them, just as the chimera itself possesses body parts from a lion, a snake, and a goat, and would have an impressive capacity for viciousness as the chimera does. Hardly a glowing endorsement for young Mr Potter, and it goes without saying that such a wizard would be a powerful one._

_However, even these facts do not compare with who the wand's previous master was: Charlus Potter, Harry Potter's grandfather._

_Few of those reading this will know of Charlus Potter. A part of the British Regiment that made up the ICW forces against Gellert Grindelwald during the Global Wizarding War, Charlus Potter received three medals for gallantry during his service including one Victoria Cross, the highest honour any British soldier, magical or muggle, can receive. It was this medal that was awarded to him in October 1944 for duelling against Gellert Grindelwald himself._

_Like I'm sure many of you reading this are, I was shocked when I read it. Gellert Grindelwald? Surely not. However, that is what the records say. I thought to myself that the word duel must have been some sort of exaggeration; casting nuisance spells in an effort to distract him from his fellow soldiers maybe. After all, who but Albus Dumbledore could engage Gellert Grindelwald in a true duel and survive?_

_Like any good reporter, I sought to confirm the story. I contacted as many witches and wizards as I could that I believed may have been there that day. Most refused to speak to me – the war was too painful a memory, and I could not begrudge them that. However, one wizard was happy to meet with me. Simon Minchin lives in Plymouth, Devon along with his wife and served in the British ICW forces in the very same unit as Charlus Potter._

"_For many years I tried to lock that part of my life away," he told me over tea in his seaside home, "and it never made the memories any less painful or the pain any less consuming. I just got used to it, like a shadow hanging in the back of my mind, but things like that always come back. You hear a name, a spell, a place, and suddenly you're right back in the thick of it. So I started talking about it, first with my wife, and then my children and then to anyone who asked. It has helped, even if it was ever so painful in the beginning."_

_When I asked about that day in 1944 when Charlus Potter was said to have duelled Gellert Grindelwald I suppose my disbelief must have coloured my voice, for Mr Minchin started to laugh._

_"That he did. Saw it with my own eyes. On that day we were tasked with capturing a point of tactical importance. The Forest of Fontainebleau, as I'm sure any herbologists reading this will know, is one of relatively few places In Europe you can grow certain plants used in potions, and at the time it was controlled by Grindelwald's forces. We already controlled most of the others so taking it would be nigh on crippling for Grindelwald. Without those plants he can't make healing potions, and without the potions he can't deploy his men with as much prejudice. You see, it means that when he does deploy them and inevitably suffers some injuries he can't just give them a few potions and send them out again._

"_It was a massively important location, so we were one of half a dozen or more companies sent to take it. Mostly American and British, but there were a few Canadians and French as well. We all knew each other well enough – we'd been assigned together a few times already in various operations. _

"_So, one morning we get the order to attack. We layered our disillusionment charms and our notice-me-nots, knowing damn well that they wouldn't do us any good by the time we got close. There were charms and wards covering the area to cancel any of those sorts of spells, you see, and try as they might our cursebreakers couldn't get them down. That more than anything told us just how tough it was going to be to capture; Grindelwald must have had a team of some of his best warders constantly battling against our guys just to keep the charms up._

"_It went to pot even quicker than we thought it would. We tripped a few hidden traps going in, and as we watched the guys who had tripped them writhing on the ground curses started flying. It was chaos; our formations shattered, we were all huddling together behind shields and transfigured cover, casting the occasional curse when we could. Grindelwald's forces had the advantage in defending because of all the wards and premade defences so there were plenty of us getting injured, and the wards meant that they couldn't just be portkeyed back out. Healers were doing what they could to stabilise them quickly, then the wounded were being hurried back on stretchers until they got beyond the anti-portkey wards._

"_That was when Grindelwald appeared, just wandered out of the trees to the side, and he started cursing them. Cursing healers! The wounded!"_

_Mr Minchin's tea cup shattered beneath his grip, and it took him a few seconds to calm himself enough to speak again. I can't blame him; there is something truly monstrous in attacking those that can't defend themselves, even more so than inferi or any of the other disgusting acts Gellert Grindelwald committed._

"_I don't think I've ever been as angry as I was in that moment. Those guys were our own personal angels. They would put as back together instead of shielding themselves from the curses that were whizzing around their heads. You've got to understand that battlefield healing is an art-form, even more so than the healers you have in hospitals. It's not something just anyone can do. Anyone can cast piercing curses – hell, that was all some lads could do – but putting a man back together again is something entirely different. We couldn't just train new ones in a couple of weeks. Those guys were some of the most intelligent people I have ever met, and Grindelwald cursed them in the back._

_"I remember the look on Charlus's face when he saw it, but more than that I remember how it felt. When some wizards get angry you know it. You can taste it on the air, feel it on your skin. Charlus was one such wizard. When he was angry, by God you knew it._

"_So he went at him, forced him into a proper fight. Wizard against wizard. The entire battlefield seemed to just stop and watch. I hardly remember anything else happening except that duel. It was like watching two gods. They were flinging spells at each other quicker than you can blink, spells I hadn't seen before nor since. Great bulging balls of magic that rattled the earth, crackles of lightning, slashes so dark that you could smell the rot on the air, and all the while they're animating trees and corpses alike to pounce at each other, transfiguring birds to swoop for each other's eyes. I can't even describe it, and honestly I'm not sure I want to. Some of the errant spells that ended up striking someone did some truly horrifying things._

"_By the end they were both hurt bad, trying to cast healing charms over themselves whenever they got the chance. By then we'd moved up and were starting to overrun their defences, and when Grindelwald noticed he just portkeyed out. He knew he'd lost the forest, so he certainly wasn't going to hang around to fight someone who could beat him."_

_I was shocked. A true, proper, one-on-one duel against Gellert Grindelwald, and Charlus Potter had not only survived but inflicted significant damage._

"_What happened after that?"_

_Mr Minchin grinned._

"_Charlus kept fighting. The job wasn't done and his men were still advancing; there was no way in hell anyone was going to convince him to stay back and have his wounds treated. We ended up taking the forest, and not long after that the war was over. I've always wondered whether the war would have ended that day if Grindelwald hadn't fled."_

"_You surely can't be suggesting…?"_

"_Oh, but I am. I've always wondered whether Charlus would have managed to kill him. It would have been close, of that I'm sure."_

"_You believe he was a wizard of Albus Dumbledore's standard?" I asked, shocked._

"_A wizard? I couldn't say. Albus Dumbledore was my teacher at Hogwarts, and at his core he is just that, a teacher. A transfiguration master who has been renowned around the world since before he even left Hogwarts. Charlus wasn't like that. He was a phenomenal wizard, to be sure, but he didn't care for academics or the progression of magical knowledge. At his core he was a fighter. Combat was what he did and it was what he excelled at. Some guys enjoyed the war, and I think Charlus may well have been one of them._

"_The fact that Albus Dumbledore was able to defeat Gellert Grindelwald even despite the fact he didn't live to fight like Charlus did would suggest that he is the superior wizard, but I tell you this: if Charlus Potter had fought Grindelwald on that final day, that German rat would not still be drawing breath."_

_As I sit here writing this article, I know that I will not be able to stop thinking about what I heard for as long as I live. About the monstrosity of a war so unlike the war on You-Know-Who, the very war that was brought to an end by Charlus Potter's infant grandson. About what some are willing to do to save another, and most of all about a wizard so devoted to his men that he duelled one of the most feared wizards in history to a standstill and then refused to leave them._

"_You and your grandfather must be very similar," Mykew Gregorovitch said to Harry Potter yesterday morning. I wonder how accurate that statement is._

He could feel the eyes of every single person on him as he looked up, a small grin playing around his lips even despite his own shock. His grandfather had fought Gellert Grindelwald and could have even won! He felt pride sear his veins like never before even as belief flooded his system. If his grandfather could do that then he could surely deal with Voldemort and some stupid tournament.

It helped settle the niggling worry that had always been buzzing around the back of his head, a fear so tiny and so distant that he rarely noticed it: what would his parents think of the magic he had learned? A lot of people frowned on it, he knew, but what would _his_ _parents_ think?

He had always quietened it with thoughts of Aunt Petunia forgiving him for killing Quirrell. Forgive was probably the wrong word, actually; she just hadn't mentioned it all ever since he told her. As if it wasn't important. It had taken him a while to convince himself of that, but eventually he realised she was right. In a question of him or them no one who cared about him would ever choose him as the one to die.

It was exactly the same situation with Voldemort. He died or Voldemort did. Neither of them would allow it to be anything else. They couldn't possibly blame him for learning and using everything he could to make sure he survived, could they? This article told him that no, they couldn't, because his grandfather, the man Sirius said that James Potter had hero-worshipped, had done it too.

"Is that true?" Emily asked in a hushed whisper that did little to hide her awe. "Did your grandad really duel Grindelwald?"

"Looks like it," he murmured, his gaze dipping back to the familiar photograph. "Sirius said that he always refused to talk about the war. All he would say was that he was proud of his service but would not relive it."

Cedric nodded in grim understanding.

"My dad doesn't like talking about the war against You-Know-Who, and that was a very different thing that he never had to truly fight in. Too many people he knew died."

A contemplative silence settled over them. They were all two years older than him, he realised, possibly closer to three. They might even remember what it was like at the very end on some level; the relief on their mother's face when their father came home from the Ministry, the wary glances out the windows.

By the looks on the faces of those in the hall they were suddenly expecting a lot more of him. He wasn't just a fourth year anymore, he was the fourth year who was "very similar" to a wizard capable of duelling Gellert Grindelwald. Fleur and Viktor were both watching him with new eyes, as was everyone else. The only one who wasn't was Cedric; he had a bit of an idea already, even if he hadn't seen him duel yet. He looked up at the professors table, ignoring the strange expression on Dumbledore's face and instead locked eyes with Karkaroff. His sneer held a little less confidence than usual.

Harry ate his breakfast quickly, intent on getting back to his room in the champions corridor. He was going to practise anything and everything until his vision blurred from exhaustion, and then he would carry on. He would not sully his grandfather's memory by doing poorly.

* * *

**AN: I've actually had this written for a while and had thought I'd uploaded it already, so I'll be uploading the next one within the next few days. That one is the first task which, while a lot of fun to write, took a while, hence the long wait.**


	17. Chapter 17

He stared down at the number in annoyance. It was quite clearly wrong, but try as he might he couldn't find the problem in his calculations. Scowling, he screwed the parchment up and threw it towards the bin and succeeded only in adding to the pile of crumpled workings. He must have messed up an equation near the very start. He'd have to start again.

Still, he didn't mind. It kept his mind off the task. He glanced at his clock; just gone seven in the morning. Four hours until it started, and yet he had been up for the last three working on the Fidelius. Sleep had not come easily last night, and when it finally did arrive the visit was only brief.

There was nothing to be done now, he assured himself. A calm mind would retain more than a frantic one even if he was stuffing spells into it until the last minute.

He spent the next two hours toiling away at his equations and grinned when he finally got an answer that looked right. He wanted to keep going but knew that he would be made to at least attend breakfast. If he was honest he had no desire to eat anything, but he also knew that saying that would do him no good when Cedric inevitably came knocking.

Reluctantly, he put his parchments back in their folder and wandered towards the bathroom. When he emerged, freshly washed and a little more awake thanks to the cold water, he eyed the uniform that he had been given a few days before. It was black and made out of a thick, leathery sort of fabric that should hopefully help shield him against the cold, but that didn't mean he hadn't also inscribed runes for both warming and cooling charms as well; he had no idea what sort of environment they were going to be thrown into.

It included a jacket and trousers that were loose enough not to restrict his movement but tight enough that they wouldn't flap around and get in his way, as well as a pair of boots that were much more suitable than his trainers. His was just blank fabric, as opposed to Cedric's which had a Hogwarts crest stitched onto the left breast of the jacket. He wasn't bothered about that, but he did wonder whether he should put something there in its place.

The newly transfigured House Potter crest was just barely secured to the jacket when a loud banging echoed through the room.

"Oi Harry! Hurry up and get out here!"

"It's not even ten yet! We've got ages!"

"It starts at eleven," Cedric's voice reverberated through the door, "that doesn't mean you finally wander down at eleven. Now get out here! There's a surprise here for you."

Harry grumbled as he pulled the trousers on and then yanked a shirt from his closet. Why did he have to go and get stared at for the next hour? Why couldn't he just stay in his room, relax and then leave when he actually had to? And what was the surprise? He didn't particularly like surprises this year, and he thought that the task would be more than enough surprise for him today.

He had barely stepped out of his room before something ploughed into him and started squeezing him for all he was worth. He flinched, his wand appearing instantly in his hand, but then he noticed the familiar scent and the familiar head of auburn hair.

"Nice to see you too, Harry," a voice said from along the corridor, and Harry looked up to see Neville and Cedric chuckling to themselves.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked, still blinking stupidly down at the top of Susan's head. "Sue, if you want me to hug you back you're going to have to let go of my arms."

Her grip relented, but only enough for him to shift his arms up and around her. As soon as he did so the squeezing returned with a vengeance.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Neville in question while trying to ignore the protesting of his ribs.

"You know what she's like."

"I heard that, Longbottom," Susan said, her voice muffled by his jacket.

"I know you did," Neville said before he looked back at Harry. "She seemed to be under the impression that you wouldn't tell us if anything happened so as not to worry us. A preposterous notion, I'm sure."

Harry turned his eyes to Cedric, who looked terribly amused by Susan's clinginess.

"Cedric, has anything bad happened?"

"Beyond blowing up cauldrons?"

Susan snorted as she finally pulled away.

"We're used to that."

"Well in that case no, nothing bad has happened," Cedric smiled.

"Not yet anyway," Harry said darkly. "We haven't even started yet."

Susan slapped him on the arm.

"Don't talk like that," she said, glaring. "It will be fine; this task will be a doddle."

Harry glanced towards Cedric, pretending not to notice the sudden nervousness that he was valiantly trying to hide as he mouthed "_doddle?_". Cedric grinned despite himself.

"You still haven't answered my question. What are you two doing here?"

"The whole school is here," Susan said as if it should have been obvious. "They're all in the dining hall, but we obviously weren't going to wait for you turn up for breakfast when you were probably hoping to avoid it. That would have been stupid, by the way – you'll need your strength for the task."

Harry caught Neville's eye.

"_Yes mum_," he mouthed.

Neville grinned, and Susan hit them both without even bothering to look.

"Anyway," she continued, "did you really think that the rest of the school was just going to stay at Hogwarts and read about it in the paper? The whole of Hogwarts and the whole of Beauxbatons are here and there will be a lot more spectators arriving later as well. This tournament is an even bigger event than the world cup."

"Brilliant," Harry muttered. "Let's hope it doesn't go as badly as that did, then."

"Don't be so pessimistic Harry," Neville said, but even he looked like he was having similar thoughts.

"It will be fine," Susan said again. "Like I said, this task will be a doddle and then all the others will be just as easy. Their… their whatever _this_ is won't work."

Harry wondered how much of her certainty was because of her belief in him and how much was due to her stubbornness in refusing to even entertain the possibility that something might go wrong. He felt a pang of guilt slither down his spine that his friends were always forced into fearing for his life, and no matter how hard he tried to twist that guilt into something else or to hide it away it always came back.

The dining hall was quite different to how it usually looked when they entered. Instead of little pockets of light blue, deep red or black the tables were now entirely uniform, each table taken up by a single school. The Durmstrang students took up nearly half of the tables by themselves and three of the other tables were lined by Beauxbatons blue. That left the final two tables for the Hogwarts students, and even then there was space to spare. Britain was only a little island after all.

Harry wasn't surprised to notice that several younger students were glaring at him as he walked past them. Neville and Susan had told him in their letters that a portion of the Hogwarts populace was convinced that he had cheated his way in somehow, small though that portion was, and Harry was still amazed that people could be told that there was a high chance something could kill them and still think it a wonderful opportunity. Besides, Malfoy's glare was nothing new, though he honestly wasn't sure if he was glaring more at him or Neville.

Two second year Ravenclaws scrambled down the bench to make room for them as Cedric slipped in beside India, who immediately took his hand and started tapping nervous patterns on the back of it. Harry took the seat next to him with Neville and Susan opposite before everyone introduced themselves with typical Hufflepuff politeness. It was almost as if they hadn't spent the last three years living within a hundred feet of each other. They quickly started chatting between themselves, trying their best to ignore the tension that hung in the air while Harry peered down the table at the Weasley twins who, judging by the galleons someone had just dropped into their hands, were acting as bookmakers.

He settled his chin on his hand and took a sip of his juice as his gaze drifted around the room. Fleur looked frazzled as she picked at her food while Viktor looked as stoic as ever, though it was clear from the clench of his jaw that he too was feeling the pressure. At least that meant there hadn't been any cheating from the other schools; they were all going in blind.

Abruptly, a hand reached across the table and switched his still empty plate with one that was practically overflowing with more types of food than Harry could distinguish.

"Eat," Susan insisted.

Harry looked helplessly at Neville.

"Eat up, mate. She's not going to stop nagging until you do. And I say nagging in the nicest possible way, of course."

Harry scowled lightly and, after casting the usual detection charms, started picking at the mound of bacon Susan had put on the plate, finally allowing his knee to start bouncing in agitation.

He kept glancing around, feeling more on edge than he had felt in years, and noticed Hannah looking down the table at him. Or at least he thought it was at him, anyway, before he noticed she was looking at the other side of the table. She didn't look quite as cosy with Ernie and his group either. Harry frowned internally; so Susan and Neville had started being more openly friendly with Hannah once he'd left. He didn't blame them for it but that didn't mean he liked it either, not only because of the fact that they were still willing to be friends with her but also that he was the only reason they hadn't been doing it for years. Guilt squirmed briefly in his gut; he was taking their friend from them just by being there.

"So Harry," Cedric said, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be seen, "how's your Russian coming along?"

Harry saw the question for the distraction it was. Neither of them wanted to think about the task.

"Apparently my Russian is now adequate, so I'll be allowed to attend classes starting next week. Any professors I should look forward to?"

"Well, there's…"

The conversation was mindless and pleasantly distracting, yet still the wait for eleven o'clock to roll around passed torturously slowly. This was Voldemort's first real chance to get him killed; he just wanted it over with so that he could stop worrying about it. The not knowing was killing him, and he prayed that for the next task they were at least given a clue.

Finally, Karkaroff stood from his seat and the front of the hall.

"Champions, the time has come."

"You'll be fine, Harry," Neville said as he and Cedric stood.

Susan didn't look like she could speak even if she wanted to. After spending the past few weeks assuring him that he would be fine she had suddenly lost the ability to say it.

"I know," he said, forcing his most convincing grin onto his face, "like Sue said, it'll be a doddle."

Hogwarts students shouted encouragement as he and Cedric passed, though Harry heard more than a few saying how he wouldn't last five minutes. Malfoy was the most vocal of that group, and Harry didn't even grace him with a glance as he walked towards the doors where the three heads and the men from the Ministry were waiting.

Viktor and Fleur appeared in step with them as they were led out of the castle. All four of them gasped when they stepped out into the snow and set eyes on a stadium so large that they had to crane their necks to see the top of it. Harry spent several seconds just staring at it. It certainly hadn't been there an hour ago, but yet there were already long lines of people snaking across the grounds and showing their tickets to the wizards at the entrances. They followed Karkaroff towards a lone tent set away right by the very edge of the forest with bulbs flashing behind them.

"Good luck Harry, Cedric," Dumbledore said as he, Karkaroff and Madame Maxine came to a stop outside the tent.

Maxine expressed what Harry assumed were similar sentiments to her own champion in French, but Karkaroff barely bothered to give Viktor a nod before he turned away. Viktor didn't seem to care.

They were quickly ushered into the tent by an overexcited Karlson and found it to be utterly bare but for the table that was stood at the centre with four purple bags set atop it. Harry eyed the bags warily as Karlson bounded behind the table with far more energy than a man his age should possess, a child-like grin on his face.

"Well go on then, pick a bag! Don't worry, they're all the same!"

The other three champions seemed far more eager than he was as they each swiped a bag from the table. Viktor tried to yank open the cord that was holding the velvet together, but it didn't budge no matter how hard he pulled. Harry blinked in surprise when Karlson wagged his finger at him as if he were a troublesome puppy; he honestly hadn't thought Viktor's scowl could get any deeper.

"Not yet, not yet! You'll be able to open them once the task begins and not a moment before! The time has finally come for you to get the details! Now, in those bags are instructions for various different potions, as well as a cauldron, beakers, vials and a whole host of other potions equipment. You must choose at least one potion from the booklet and then brew it, but you must retrieve all the ingredients yourselves from the environment you will be placed in. Plants must be found and then harvested, and if the potion calls for the body part of a creature you must find that creature and retrieve that body part."

Harry barely withheld his groan. Potions, herbology, and magical creatures. His three worst subjects.

"The Point-me spell is strictly forbidden during this task, as is the summoning of outside materials," Karlson said, and this time Harry really did groan, "and I assure you we will know if you do so. These" – he pointed to four small crystals that were floating in mid-air – "will be following you at all times and will be broadcasting to screens in the stadium. Once you have brewed and drank your potion, you will be free to activate the portkey in your bags which will then transport you to the second stage of the task. Whatever advantage the potion you brewed gives you will carry into this section."

"Are we being told what this second part is?" Fleur asked.

Karlson grinned at her.

"No."

"Then how are we supposed to decide what potion to brew?"

Karlson's grin became even wider.

"You just have to decide. Are you going to brew a potion that will take a long time but give you an advantage in almost any situation, or a potion that takes just as long and gives you a much larger advantage but only in certain situations? What about a simple potion that gives only a small benefit but takes relatively little time?"

Karlson seemed completely unconcerned by Fleur's glare. In fact, he started to laugh. Harry badly wanted to curse the man, and one look at the other two champions told him that they felt the same.

"Well then," Karlson said as he glanced at his watch, still chuckling to himself, "not long now. I best get to my seat. Myself, Artyom and each of your headmasters are acting as judges for the tournament, and I certainly don't want to miss a moment of this. It promises to be a spectacle."

Karlson wandered back out of the tent with a final jaunty wave. It was Fleur who put all their thoughts into words.

"What an irritating man."

Viktor grunted, now trying to cut open the bag with spells. Harry watched in mild amusement as yet another severing curse seemed to be absorbed by the fabric until, finally, he gave up and started to pace.

"Lucky we practised herbology so much, eh Harry?" Cedric said.

"I don't know about you but I'm still not exactly glowing with confidence. Let's hope that I don't blow up the cauldron this time, otherwise I really am fucked."

Viktor snorted loudly, whether from amusement or the belief that one of the champions was effectively out of the running Harry honestly wasn't sure.

"Are we supposed to just wait here?" Fleur asked, casting frequent glances towards her silver watch. "It is almost eleven o'clock."

They all shrugged.

"Maybe they'll–"

Cedric's words were cut off as Harry suddenly felt the tell-tale tug of a portkey behind his navel and a second later he felt his feet slam into cushioned ground. He quickly took stock of his surroundings, sparing but a moment to laugh at Cedric as he pushed himself up from the snow. The light, the temperature, the depth of the snow and the trees were all exactly the same as they had been when he had been following Karkaroff across the grounds just minutes before. They were in the Durmstrang forest! They'd probably portkeyed less than a hundred yards!

Right, that at least narrowed down the sorts of plants and creatures he knew he could find here. The bag opened easily this time and Harry pulled out a thick booklet and started leafing through it. There must have been instructions for two dozen potions in here! He ignored most of them after barely more than a glance, knowing full well that he wasn't good enough to brew them, and others because he knew that some of the plants and creatures they required couldn't possibly survive here.

'_Unless they were put here especially for the task with enough climate control charms to keep them alive,'_ an irritating voice sang in the back of his head.

He cursed the organisers' names, but the more he read the more he was forced to give them a grudging sort of respect. As well as potions with ingredients that should be impossible to find here, there were potions that did the opposite of each other. A potion that allowed the drinker to breathe underwater and another that allowed them to tolerate extreme heat. A potion that increased the drinker's speed and another that increased their brute physical strength. There were also potions so specific that it would a fool's errand to brew them without knowing what the second portion of the task entailed; a potion that made the drinker's blood toxic, presumably for use against one of the various vampire species, and another that would grant the drinker immunity to any and all venoms.

Finally, Harry settled on a potion that was frankly a little more difficult than he would have liked but that was still one of the easiest in the booklet: Cat. It would make his vision much, much sharper while also allowing him to see perfectly even in complete darkness. Of course, if the second stage wasn't in the dark then it was a bit of a waste, but at least his vision was still enhanced. The biggest downside was that it didn't last anywhere near as long as most of the others.

He glanced around, finding the clearing empty but for a conjured table and slowly heating cauldron where Viktor had been standing. His potion must be one of the ones that needed water to have been boiled and then cooled again before brewing. Harry quickly ran over and scrawled a series of tiny runes into the table, so small that Viktor wouldn't notice them unless he pressed his nose to the desk. An exceedingly mild confounding boundary, just strong enough that he was likely to make a mistake but weak enough he wouldn't think to look for anything.

A part of Harry felt bad as he dashed off in search of his first ingredient, but he really had no desire to come in last. He consoled himself by telling himself that he did it for Cedric as well, and that he could have done a lot worse. Besides, it really was Viktor's own fault for not putting any defences on his table. He could have just cast a blasting charm on his cauldron and been done with it.

The actual ingredient gathering for his potion promised to be fairly simple compared to most of the other potions in the booklet. His only required a few ingredients and of those only one was an animal part. Of course, the fact that it was an easy potion didn't mean the ingredients themselves had to be easy to get. Quite the opposite, actually. An acromantula's eye promised to be rather difficult.

He looked up at the thin strands of silk that criss-crossed the barren branches of the trees overhead, all converging somewhere deeper in the forest. Harry swallowed; at least it wouldn't be difficult to find.

Slowly, he followed the strands further into the forest, his eyes darting left to right and up and down in search of a man-eating spider. God, he hated this task already. He just hoped he found a small one before he came to the nest itself.

He had barely been walking through the ankle-deep snow for a minute when black blurred through his peripheral vision, but when his eyes snapped towards it he saw nothing but white unblemished snow. For long seconds he remained stopped dead in his tracks, turning slowly with his wand raised and his ears pricked for even the slightest sound.

There was nothing.

He breathed a sigh, half annoyance and half relief, and then looked back up at the highway of shimmering silk only to come face to face with eight black eyes and a pair of clicking pincers. A startled scream wrenched itself from his throat as he threw himself sideways just in time to avoid being crushed under its bulk. He rolled through the snow and cast a cutting curse the moment his feet appeared under him. Pale blue blood splattered against the snow as three of the spider's legs were severed a split second before a piercing curse struck it in the side.

It screeched in agony but continued to run towards him, pushing one side of its body across the ground and forming a mound of snow that did little to slow it down. Two more piercing curses rocketed through its thorax before it finally crumpled to the ground, blue blood staining the snow as it dribbled down the spider's body, but Harry still hurried to conjure ropes around it before he approached.

Already he could see strands of silver pinging overhead, shaking the branches they were attached to and creating a low rustling that was slowly becoming louder. He quickly conjured a large jar and what was effectively an ice cream scoop and started spooning the spider's still glaring eyes out of its head as quickly as he dared, glancing constantly over its head in search of the thousand-legged horde that was quickly approaching. The moment the third eye popped from its socket Harry ran back the way he came, casting cutting curses up at the branches in an effort to slow them down. Long sheets of silk drooped as the branches fell to the floor, and Harry ignored the distant screeching and closer thumps of large bodies hitting the ground as he sprinted through the snow as fast as he could.

It wasn't until he reached the clearing he had started in that he stopped, breathing heavily. Viktor didn't even look up from his cauldron as he started to remove the teeth from what looked like a mountain troll's head, seemingly ignorant to the dull red blood that was seeping out of what remained of the neck and crawling along the desk. Harry took one look before he continued on, deciding that if the acromantula turned up then they wouldn't be his problem anymore. Though, he did have to hide his satisfaction at the slight shake in Viktor's arm as tried to pry the teeth from the gums.

Right, acromantula eyes done. That left just two more ingredients: bilberries and cat's eyes. Easy enough.

He had initially felt a pang of disgust at the thought that they had let loose a few cats to be hunted down before he remembered that cat's eyes were a plant. He had long since forgotten the actual name of them, but he remembered what it looked like – or at least he thought he did anyway.

Sighing, he picked a direction at random and started to walk. He was sure that the people watching him were having a right blast.

It took him a good five minutes to find a bilberry bush, and even then it was more by luck than anything else. The moment he crossed the boundary of the climate control charms he cursed his own stupidity. Cat's eyes didn't grow in snow, so why hadn't he just searched for those charms instead of wandering aimlessly hoping to find what he was looking for?

Angrily, he conjured another jar and filled it with berries before setting off again, this time searching for spells instead of plants. Barely thirty seconds later he found another plant, though it unfortunately wasn't the one he wanted, and a few minutes later he found a third. He visited three more bushes before he found the cat's eyes, and even then it had taken less time than the billberries had. Or at least he thought it was cat's eyes, anyway. If it wasn't then his potion would be ruined, but then that was the reason he had taken spare eyes from the acromantula.

With a few flicks of his wand he transfigured a fallen branch into a rough wooden table and another into a cauldron stand, and then a few cutting curses severed enough branches for him to create a fire. He spread the instructions out on the desk as the flames started to crackle, and once they had really got going and the cauldron was properly set up over them he got to work.

A muttered spell filled the cauldron with water that fizzled and hissed when it came on contact with the scalding metal. While he waited for it to boil he conjured a mortar and pestle and started grinding the cat's eyes and the bilberries together into a paste. It took far too long to make the paste smooth enough for his liking, but once he managed it he conjured a small bowl and withdrew the silver knife from his bag. Gently, he picked up one of the acromantula's eyes and held it over the bowl before he pricked it with his knife. He had to pull his head backwards to avoid the eye-watering stench that assaulted his nose as the noxious fluid flooded out.

Only once he was sure every drop had been collected did he place the now flaccid eye back on the table. The paste was then added to the fluid and stirred until it became a glistening blue liquid that, if his nose didn't work, Harry probably have poured over his granola quite happily. Unfortunately his nose did still work, though, and if anything the smell had actually got worse. Not even magic could protect him enough to stop him from gagging as he flicked his wand to separate the bowl into four equal measures which then flowed through the air into seperate beakers.

He glanced again at the instructions and read ahead. There was no point rushing in and then messing it up because he hadn't prepared everything. That would just make this whole thing a waste of time.

Unsurprisingly, he had indeed forgotten to prepare one of the ingredients. He returned to the acromantula's punctured eye and gently split it open, spending a few seconds trying to work out which bit exactly it was that he wanted. It took considerable effort and a great deal of intricacy to remove the cornea without damaging it, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally managed to free it in one piece. He grabbed his knife and cut the cornea into eight pieces, being careful to make them as similar as possible. They were supposed to be identical but he doubted that any slight differences would be all that important. Hopefully not anyway.

Once he was satisfied that they were all roughly the correct size he turned back to his cauldron. The water had long since boiled and, after another check of the instructions, he withdrew the metal stirrer from his bag and tapped his wand against the desk. Red numbers appeared over of the wood, all of them currently sat to zero.

"Alright," Harry murmured as he grabbed one of the beakers filled with noxious fluid, "three, two, one, start."

The timer started shifting forwards just as he poured the contents of the beaker into the cauldron, turning the clear water a dark blue.

"Six seconds clockwise, three seconds anticlockwise, nine second pause," he muttered under his breath, his eyes flitting between the timer and the cauldron. "Six seconds clockwise, three seconds anticlockwise, nine second pause."

He repeated the sequence five more times and was relieved to watch the potion turn the correct shade of purple. He had got the right plant, then.

Three minutes later the process was repeated for the second measure and then the third, and he very nearly did it again once the final beaker was added. As it was his previously smooth stirs shuddered and slowed for a second before they returned to their usual smooth pace.

"Add one piece of cornea and wait for ten seconds. Stir clockwise for nine seconds, anticlockwise for nine seconds, nine second pause," he recited. "Repeat for the other seven pieces. Finally, slow, vertical, oval-like movements with the rod for a further nine seconds, as if drawing the pupil of a cat's eye."

The moment the timer clicked over the ninth second of the final step the potion turned pitch black and Harry quickly pulled out his rod, sighing in relief. He'd managed it.

A wave of his wand extinguished the fire and cooled the potion enough that he would be able to drink it, and then he transferred the contents of the cauldron into the unbreakable vials he had been provided with. All but one were gently lowered into his little purple bag before he pulled out the little Durmstrang crest that he assumed was the portkey.

Even now the smell burned at his nose, but he forced himself to hold the vial to his lips and tip his head back. It tasted like charcoal, tar and rotting meat, but he managed to still the gag that strained his throat just long enough to swallow it. Almost instantly he felt his eyes start to itch and stretch, and within a few seconds he could see _everything_. The individual veins in the bark of the tree twenty yards away, the snowflakes as they fluttered down to the ground, the pores out of which the hair on the back of his hands sprouted.

A grin wormed its way onto his face. This was fantastic!

The grin faded slightly as he looked down at the portkey. Hopefully all that work wasn't for an enhancement that would end up being useless.

"Activate."

Dark assaulted his senses for the split second it took his eyes to adjust, and then it was like he was standing in sunlight. A giddy laugh bubbled in his throat. He'd picked the perfect potion!

He had appeared in a cavernous room that looked to have been chiselled directly into rock, with stone steps that led up to a great arched doorway on the far side and low walls sprouting from the floor. Altars had been carved into walls covered with simple paintings of horses and shields and wands, and in front of each painting was a tall stone tomb surrounded. The room smelled heavily of sulphur and rotting meat, but the pungent odour was made all the worse by the tinge of sweetness it was mixed with.

Harry clamped down on the bile that rose in his throat and quickly cast sticking charms on each of the lids to ensure whatever was in there – and he was sure there was something – couldn't get out. He wasn't sure what the organisers would hide inside the tombs, he just knew he wasn't willing to find out. It took a few seconds before hissing screeches started to echo around the room but, try as they might, they could not move the lids. A sigh of relief escaped his lips even as his eyes continued to flicker around the room. Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

Suddenly, another sound pierced the air. A scream.

That scream was pure terror, and the fact that it was probably a trick laid by the organisers didn't even register until he had taken a step. He felt the stone beneath his foot sink slightly just as a pair of rocky hands grabbed his remaining ankle and yanked, sending him sprawling to the ground as they tried to pull him backwards into the wall. Harry hurriedly flicked his wand to send a rope spinning around a pillar, and while he held onto the rope with his left hand he cast blasting curses with his right until, finally, the hands let him go.

He clambered to his feet and then cast one of the few healing spells he knew over his bruised and badly twisted ankle. The throbbing became a dull ache, and he cast the same spell over his hand to heal the burns from the rope as he looked at the room with new eyes. Of course it wasn't going to be simple, and the organisers clearly weren't shy about using traps

He frowned, wondering how he was going to avoid all the traps that were undoubtedly set into the floor, before his frown became triumphant. Being careful not to move, he conjured a log the same width as the walkway and cast a banishing charm to send it rolling away. Foot long spikes erupted from the floor as the log rolled across the floor, and Harry took that opportunity to cast blasting charms at every spot they appeared.

Only once the log had bounced against the far wall did he start moving, maintaining a shield in case there were any magical traps as he crossed the room with quick steps. It was fortunate he did, as the moment he reached the steps on the other side a bright slash of blue light slammed into it. The organisers really weren't playing around; if that was what he thought it was then it would have broken half the bones in his body.

He slowed as he came to the arch and entered the next room, casting the broadest detection charm he knew every few steps. It and all those that followed came back negative, but nonetheless Harry came to a stop near the centre of the room, resisting the temptation to simply run towards the archway on the other side. There was something here, lurking just out of sight. He was sure of it.

Air sliced behind him and he threw himself forwards on reflex, barely quick enough to avoid the blow. Even as it was he felt the breeze brush against the back of his neck, but when he rolled to his feet and turned to look at where he had been standing a moment before there was no attacker in sight. Curses started to shoot from his wand at random on the off chance they would hit whatever had attacked him. They splashed against the walls, leaving deep gouges and long slashes in the stone, but that was it. No spurt of blood or cry of pain. It was as if whatever had been there a second ago had vanished.

Something shimmered in the corner of his eye and Harry snapped off a blasting curse, almost expecting it to pass pointlessly through the air just like all the others had. Instead, he felt the air shift as something was thrown backwards, heard something slam against the wall with a pained cry, and then watched as the air seemed to dissolve before his eyes.

It was horrifying. Eight feet tall with dark grey skin and long, bat-like ears. Vicious claws extended from each of its fingers, each one as long as his arm and sharp enough to split him in two with a single swipe. Blood-stained stakes jutted from its elbows, as if the bone had just forgot to stop growing, while blood so dark it appeared black dripped from its bared fangs and over its lips. Even that looked pale when compared to the thing's glaring eyes.

Harry's spine squirmed. This was no creature nor mindless beast. This was a _monster_; a being with hideous intelligence glinting in its eyes that would devote every bit of it to trying to kill him.

It moved so fast that his first two curses missed, and when he tried to predict its movement it changed direction before the spell had even left his wand. He stumbled backwards to avoid the monster's underhanded strike, its claws whistling past his nose, and cast a wide banishing charm to buy himself some time, knowing that at this distance it would be unable to avoid it.

It didn't throw the thing back anywhere near as far as he hoped, but in the brief second it was airborne and therefore unable to dodge Harry cast a piercing curse. It struck in the centre of the monster's chest, splattering darkened blood over the floor, but the monster did not die. Instead, Harry watched in horrified fascination as its flesh bubbled and frothed over the wound until, barely second later, he wouldn't know the curse had even struck were it not for the globs of blood that trickled down its chest.

The creature screeched and approached again. A few flicks of his wand conjured a pair of leopards that pounced towards it. Both of them were split in two by a disinterested swipe of its claws, and once it got close enough he banished it away a second time. It was nothing more than a delaying tactic, he knew, but it gave him time to force himself to think beyond simple instinct.

Whatever this thing was could heal from his curses in seconds and, judging by the fact that his piercing curse didn't lance straight through, had some level of magical resistance as well. He needed something that would inflict damage constantly, preventing it from recovering, and he needed it quickly. Already he could feel the effects of his potion starting to deteriorate, and he wasn't confident he could carve out enough time to drink another dose.

"_Incendio._"

The creature backed away with a shriek as flames spouted from his wand, but to Harry's horror the flames instantly began to spiral upwards in a thin cyclone of fire. They seemed to be sucked upwards into the shadows of the ceiling, but behind the scant light that wasn't ripped away Harry could see the air rippling and undulating. The fire wasn't being taken, just the light!

He forced more and more power into the spell, having to close his eyes against the swirling orange pillar that obscured his vision. He pushed it as far outwards as he could so that he was sure it must be filling every corner of the room and then kept pushing, making the fire hotter and hotter and hotter. The monster's screams left tremors echoing in his chest, but still he kept the spell up until the shrieks died and the only sounds in the room were his heavy breathing and the licking of fire against stone.

The room was pitch black when he opened his eyes. His lumos charm too was sucked upwards in a pillar of white, and he felt a tired grin stretch over his face as he reached into the purple bag he had secured to his hip; he really had picked the right potion. A second later he pulled out another vial of potion, unstoppered it and braced himself for the taste. He grimaced and felt the expected itching, and a few seconds later the room was perfectly lit once more. All that was left of the monster was charred bones, melting skin and bubbling flesh, and Harry hurried towards the archway before the smell could reach him. The sight alone made him want to retch.

He'd been hoping for an exit, but instead the archway led into yet another room. He was sorely tempted to stare straight into the crystal that had been following him and tell the organisers exactly what he thought of them. Why couldn't the task be something short and simple like swimming to the bottom of the lake?

The general design of this room was much the same as the previous two, with one major difference: the gaping chasm that stretched across the middle of it. The only way to reach the other side was to cross a stone bridge. It looked sturdy, with finely carved supports criss-crossing between the base and the railing, and that alone was enough to convince Harry to stay exactly where he was. If the organisers wanted him to think it was simple then it sure as hell wasn't.

His eyes started darting across the ground in search of more traps and found a string of runes cleverly concealed in the patterns that had been painted on the floor. His blasting curse rippled against the stone without any effect, so Harry grudgingly crouched down to get a better look. It wasn't a pattern he recognised, but after a minute or so he guessed that it was probably a combination compulsion and terror boundaries.

Interesting. He'd always found terror wards interesting in their simplicity – he'd contemplated using one on Krum's table at the start – and he wondered what exactly this one was for, especially when paired with a compulsion. A second later he glanced the chasm and smirked; probably trying to get him to jump in. Instead, he dragged his wand across the floor to draw a few extra lines onto one of the runes. The whole scheme glowed for a split second before it fizzled and died.

With that dealt with he advanced towards the bridge, his eyes still scanning every surface in search of more traps. He reached the bridge without finding anything else but paused a step before the bridge itself, eyeing it speculatively. The room had been pretty bare of traps up until now, and the bridge was something he absolutely had to use. That meant that it was undoubtedly rigged in some way, more than likely with something incredibly difficult to combat.

He frowned as he contemplated ways to get around it and save himself the hassle. Conjuring a bridge of his own was out of the question – it would take far too much energy, and he was willing to bet there were spells to prevent that anyway. After a few minutes of thinking an uncertain grin appeared on his face, and then he climbed onto the bannister and walked across to the other side without a problem.

He hopped off on the other side barely able to believe that had actually worked, and in his disbelief left himself open to the stone hammer that swung up from the floor. Harry hastened to pull his leg back in time. He failed, but his attempt meant that instead of shattering his knee to pieces it merely broke his shin.

Still, he doubted his Aunt would approve of the long, varied and colourful list of words that fell from his mouth.

Grimacing in pain, Harry hobbled over to the blank wall before casting a broad detection charm. He frowned slightly and then cast a couple more focussed ones, and once the results had stopped tingling along his forearm he started to peer up at the wall. There were wards, that much he knew, but after several seconds of staring at the conspicuously smooth stone he was forced to admit that, unfortunately, there were no runes.

He didn't bother trying to stop himself from cursing again. He knew plenty of the theoretical side of wards and even more about their runic bases, but he really knew very little about purely spell-based wards such as these. He'd have to dedicate some time to it at some point, but that didn't exactly help him now. He slowly cast a series of vaguely remembered analysis charms, having to spend several seconds in between each to work out what the resulting sensations actually meant, and then started waving his wand through the air in halting motions.

It didn't work, but he was at least sixty percent sure that he was doing the right thing. He tried again, this time vocalising the unfamiliar spells. If this didn't work he'd just have to blow the wall up.

Thankfully, this time the wall blinked at him and then dissolved, allowing light to surge into the darkened room. It was so bright that he was forced to shield his face as he hurried through the opening, half expecting another room, but instead he emerged into a wall of thunderous noise. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness before he peered up at the thousands of faces that were staring down at him.

"And Harry Potter finishes second!" Karlson cried, his magnified voice bouncing around the stadium with very nearly as much vigour as he was bouncing in his seat.

Harry glanced around the arena and saw Cedric grinning at him from one of the chairs that were pressed against the far wall, and he looked over his shoulder just in time to see the thick black wall reform. It looked like the chambers for the second part of the task were in the stadium itself, presumably with some sort of spell on the ceilings that let the crowd watch from above.

He shook his head as he made his way across the arena in halting steps, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face even despite the pain. He had not only completed the task, he had come second.

"A Hogwarts one-two, eh?" Cedric grinned as he fell into a chair, though he did spare a concerned look down at his shin. Harry waved it off.

"Not quite. Technically I'm not a Hogwarts champion."

"Try telling them that," Cedric said, jerking a thumb up at the section where the Hogwarts students were seated.

With the potion still coursing through his veins he was easily able to pick out Neville and Susan in amongst the screaming crowd. Pride and sheer relief were warring on their faces, but that didn't mean that they weren't screaming just as much as the rest of them. Susan looked like she was about to explode as she beamed down at him. He grinned back.

"Harry, why are all the Durmstrang students glaring at you?"

Harry's eyes shifted across the stands and, sure enough, Cedric was right. Every single one of the Durmstrang students and plenty of the other attendees were looking at him with abject hatred.

"I may have messed with Viktor a little bit."

"What did you do?"

Cedric's voice had taken on a disapproving tone that Harry easily saw through.

"Confounding boundary on his table."

Cedric didn't manage to stifle his snort.

"That explains the explosion I heard in the forest then. Looks like it was a bad one too."

Harry peered up at the huge screens that took up an entire side of the stadium and found that Cedric was right. Viktor looked to be in very bad shape indeed. He was currently in a crypt fighting tall, screeching corpses that dripped with liquified fat, but judging by the way he was moving either they had hurt him badly or the explosion Harry had caused was a lot worse than he'd thought it would be.

His left arm was secured to his chest with a sticking charm and was clearly shattered, one of his eyes was swollen shut and he had blood dribbling down his forehead, but nonetheless he continued to determinedly cast wide area curses in the general direction of the three creatures that remained. By the look of it he couldn't actually see much, but judging by the limbs that littered the floor of the crypt that wasn't much of a problem.

One of the creatures seized up as Viktor's cutting curse grazed it. It let out a high-pitched squeal before it exploded in a shower of body parts and rotten flesh. A greying femur impaled another of the creatures and it too shuddered and seized before it exploded, leaving a single corpse that Viktor easily dispatched.

"What are those things?" Harry asked with mild horror as Viktor cast a series of healing charms over his foot. One of the spikes had got him, then. "I thought inferi were grey and skeletal?"

"Those aren't inferi," Cedric answered. "They're rotfiends. Hogwarts doesn't teach them because they're not found in Britain and they're not creations of a dark wizard either – a British wizard will never really come across one. They're naturally occurring monsters that eat people found throughout eastern Europe. Normally they eat corpses, but they certainly don't pass up a live person if the opportunity arises."

Harry nodded, slightly green at the thought of what might have happened had he not sealed the tombs shut. With his potion he'd probably have been able to deal them without a problem, but still… they would have _eaten_ him.

Viktor paused, leaning up against one of the tombs while he cast a myriad of healing charms over himself. Given the sheer number of spells he was casting his injuries must be agonising. Harry felt his respect for the Bulgarian go up, as well as a small sliver of regret for making him screw up his potion.

Harry turned his attention to the other screen where Fleur had just stumbled into the final room looking quite worse for wear; she had blood staining her silver hair, both her own bright red and the monster's black, as well a deep cut on her side. She performed a few complex wand movements that caused light to flare around the room. The screen lit up a pure white for the second it took the recording crystal to adjust, and once it did he saw her peering around the room.

Again, Harry was reminded just how lucky he'd got with his potion.

He rather hoped she'd miss the terror boundary if for no other reason to see what happened, but unfortunately she caught it just as she made to step across. It took her a while and several charms to figure out what it was, and then she subjected everyone watching to what was, in Harry's mind, absolute torture. She started to dismantle the boundary, sure, but she used the _proper method_. Harry found it genuinely painful to watch. The proper method was just so bloody slow! Why couldn't she just alter a few runes like he did instead of messing about with all those silly procedures?

When she eventually came to the bridge she stopped again to cast a seemingly endless series of detection and analysis charms, and then she started to transfigure stone planks that jutted out from the bannisters. Her bridge over the bridge was actually quite ingenious, and Harry heard Cedric curse himself for not thinking of it.

"You realise you still came first don't you?"

"I'd have rather not got in a fight with a golem though," Cedric scowled, though his lips were twitching upwards.

"How'd you beat it?"

"I didn't. I just brought the wards over the wall down in between dodging attacks. How did you get past it?"

"I avoided the whole thing by walking along the bannister."

Cedric cursed again.

Unsurprisingly, the final wall was of very little difficulty for Fleur. He'd heard that she was interested in becoming a cursebreaker after she left school, and considering she'd followed the idiotic procedure that cursebreakers were taught she'd clearly had some training for it. Barely fifteen seconds later the wall split apart and Fleur came striding out, beaming up at the applauding crowd. Her smile become noticeably thinner, however, when she noticed he and Cedric were already there.

"How long have you been finished?" she asked with a small scowl as she dropped swiftly into chair beside Harry.

"Shouldn't you go get checked out by the healers?" Cedric asked in concern. "That cut looks nasty."

Fleur looked down at her side as if only just noticing the injury.

"It is nothing," she said dismissively even as she cast a few minor healing charms over it. "Now, how long?"

"About five minutes," Harry answered.

"And I was done a couple minutes before him," Cedric said reluctantly, clearly still of the belief that she needed to see the healers. "You were working on the wall when I came out, Harry. It was nice to see you struggle for a bit."

"Piss off, Diggory."

Harry looked back to the screens, all of them now trained on Viktor as he fought against the monster with limited success. He wasn't getting hit, yes, but he wasn't really attacking either. In fact, it didn't seem like he had any idea where it was. Harry wasn't sure what potion Viktor had ended up brewing – or even if he had brewed one at all after his cauldron blew up – but if he were to hazard a guess he had chosen something that enhanced his hearing. Every time the monster swung Viktor would raise a shield bare milliseconds before it struck as if he could hear its claws scything through the air, but each impact made the already exhausted wizard stumble. The few curses he got off were ineffectual; most missed, and the ones that didn't did nothing but make it angrier.

The monster smelt blood as Viktor continued to blindly cast darker and darker spells. It crept closer, so close that if Viktor took a single step he would walk into it, and only then did it strike. Viktor just barely managed to raise a shield in time, a dim silver dome that screeched as the monster's claws dragged down it, and then another strike rattled against it.

A scream of animalistic fury echoed around the stadium as the monster continued to rain down blow after blow, driving Viktor back against the wall behind his quickly crumbling shield. Cracks stretched across the dome, growing longer with every strike, until, finally, his shield shattered. Silver shards faded into smoke as they fell to the floor and Viktor leant against the wall, helpless as the monster raised its claws.

A bolt of purple flame shot through the monster's shoulder and yanked it across the room just as it started its swing. A trio of armoured wizards had appeared in the room with their wands all trained on the monster, and it let out a shriek before it ran at them. Fire erupted from the three wizards' wands and engulfed it, fire so hot that the flames burned white as they spun upwards, and Harry was forced to look away as the monster was melted by rippling air. He didn't look back until the screams had stopped, and by that time all that was left was ash.

One of the wizards grabbed a hold of Viktor's shoulder and then all three disapparated, presumably to the medical bay. Harry wasn't sure what was supposed to happen now; were they going to wait for Viktor to get back to be told he finished last? Because that was what had happened, wasn't it? It was, for all intents and purposes, a race. It would be pointless to assign any point-scoring to it, even if Karlson _had_ said that he was one of the judges.

Harry fought the urge to start squirming in his seat as time crawled by. The crowd had started to mutter and murmur between themselves, the voices melding together into a low rumbling, and both Cedric and Fleur looked similarly apprehensive.

Finally, a man hurried into the judges' box and whispered something into Karlson's ear. Karlson nodded at the man before he raised his wand to his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Krum is being held in the medical area and so will not be able to join us for the announcement of the points," Karlson's voice echoed around the stadium.

Harry stiffened. Points? They weren't going to take his second place away were they?

"Representing Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory finished in first place and showed great bravery to obtain cerberus blood for his limited precognition potion. As such, he is awarded forty-seven points."

The British contingent burst into screaming applause.

"In second place was Harry Potter, the unexpected fourth champion, who, while fortunate in his choice of potion, also showed impressive ingenuity in his avoidance of traps and true brilliance when confronted with runes. He is awarded forty-four points."

Again, the British contingent of the crowd erupted.

"In third place was the Beauxbatons champion Fleur Delacour. Her cursebreaking skills were on full display in that final room and, despite not being as fast as Mr Potter's methods, were mightily impressive. We award her thirty-eight points."

Fleur seemed to barely register the applause of her schoolmates as she continued to stare at the ground. It was clear she thought she'd let her school down, but really there was very little he could do about that. Hopefully the Beauxbatons students were at least kind enough not to be cruel.

"Viktor Krum of Durmstrang came fourth, and though he is not currently with us we award him thirty-five points for his impressive perseverance."

What little applause there was echoed pathetically around the stadium. Not only was he not here, he had come last. He had even come behind a fourteen year old boy, even if said fourteen year old boy had sabotaged him.

"And that concludes the first task!" Karlson cried, seemingly ignorant to the suddenly dim atmosphere. "Champions, if you could please follow Professor Petrović to the medical area where you will receive some details on the next task."

Harry almost groaned in relief. They were getting details! There wouldn't be the overwhelming nervous anticipation of not knowing what the hell he was going to be made to do, nor the frantic struggle of trying to revise every single thing he could possibly need.

They were led across the stadium to a doorway that was sunken into the wall. It opened into a wide, brightly lit room complete with four beds pressed against one of the walls and racks of potions, bandages and assorted medical equipment.

Krum glared hatefully at him when he entered, and the nurse's look was only a shade or two more welcoming as she strode towards them. She cast a series of charms that made Fleur hiss in pain as the wound sealed and then shoved several vials of potions into her hands before she jabbed her wand at his shin. It snapped back into place before the pieces melted back together, and the witch looked utterly unsympathetic to his hiss of agony as she stalked away, shooting him a final frosty look.

It would be best not to get injured enough to warrant a stay in the medical wing then, because he had a feeling that if he did he would be smothered in his sleep.

Karlson bounded in and grinned at them breathlessly, as if he had ran all the way there out of sheer giddy excitement.

"Congratulations on completing the first task! Very impressive performances, very impressive performances indeed. A fourth year coming second! Unbelievable!"

Harry didn't have to look to know that Viktor's glare had intensified.

"Now, the next task will take place on the 3rd of February, and you will all be given a clue as to what it is. Mr Diggory, as you came first, you will be given that clue today. Mr Potter, as you came second, you will be given the clue in two weeks time. Miss Delacour will receive the clue two weeks after Mr Potter, and Mr Krum two weeks after her. Understood?"

Harry, Cedric and Fleur nodded, while Viktor just continued to glare. Harry had a sudden feeling that the press interviews would not be going smoothly. Karlson pulled a golden scroll from his pocket and handed it to Cedric, who took a second to peer at the finely wrought handles before he placed it in his pocket.

"Right then, now that that's dealt with let's get out to the press shall we? I'm sure they're going to be ravenous!"

Karlson chortled as if he had just made a very funny joke. Harry glanced at the still glaring Viktor and then shared a look with Cedric; this wasn't going to go well.


End file.
